Make sounds of grief like a virgin dressed in haircloth for the husband of her early years.

For a day of dark and deep shade is near, a day of cloud and black night: like a black cloud a great and strong people is covering the mountains; there has never been any like them and will not be after them again, from generation to generation.

Before them fire sends destruction, and after them flame is burning: the land is like the garden of Eden before them, and after them an unpeopled waste; truly, nothing has been kept safe from them.

Their form is like the form of horses, and they are running like war-horses.

Like the sound of war-carriages they go jumping on the tops of the mountains; like the noise of a flame of fire burning up the grain-stems, like a strong people lined up for the fight.

They are running like strong men, they go over the wall like men of war; every man goes straight on his way, their lines are not broken.

They make a rush on the town, running on the wall; they go up into the houses and in through the windows like a thief.