Thus said the Lord Jehovah to Tyre: Do not -- from the noise of thy fall, In the groaning of the wounded, In the slaying of the slaughter in thy midst, The isles shake?

Now they tremble, is it not the day of thy fall? Troubled have been the isles that are in the sea, at thine outgoing.

O dweller on the entrances of the sea, Merchant of the peoples unto many isles, Thus said the Lord Jehovah: O Tyre, thou -- thou hast said: I am the perfection of beauty.

Of oaks of Bashan they made thine oars, Thy bench they have made of ivory, A branch of Ashurim from isles of Chittim.

Of fine linen with embroidery from Egypt hath been thy sail, To be to thee for an ensign, Of blue and purple from isles of Elishah hath been thy covering.

Sons of Dedan are thy merchants, Many isles are the mart of thy hand, Horns of ivory and ebony they sent back thy reward.

All inhabitants of the isles have been astonished at thee, And their kings have been sore afraid, They have been troubled in countenance.

And I have sent a fire against Magog, And against the confident inhabitants of the isles, And they have known that I am Jehovah.