Lo! upon the mountains, The feet of one, who bringeth Good Tidings! who publisheth Prosperity! Celebrate, O Judah, thy pilgrim festivals, fulfil thy vows, for, not again, any more, shall the Abandoned One, pass through thee, he hath been wholly cut off.

And, Huzzab, hath been taken captive - hath been led up, - and, her handmaids, are making a moan like the sound of doves, as they taber upon their heart.

Horsemen uplifting both the flashing sword, and the lightning spear, Aye, a mass of slain, and a weight of dead bridles, - and no end of corpses, so that they stumble upon their corpses.

And I will cast upon thee abominable filth, and treat thee as foolish, - and set thee as a gazing-stock.

Lo! thy people, are women, in thy midst, to thy foes, have been set wide open the gates of thy and, - a fire, hath devoured, thy bars.

Asleep are thy shepherds, O king of Assyria, thy nobles, must needs rest. Scattered are thy people upon the mountains, and there is none to gather them.

No lessening of thine injury, grievous is thy wound, - all who have heard the report of thee, have clapped their hands over thee, for, upon whom, hath not thy cruelty passed without ceasing?