Yahweh, is slow to anger, but great in vigour, He will not leave, unpunished, as for Yahweh, in storm-wind and in tempest, is his way, and, clouds, are the dust of his feet.

Who rebuketh the sea and hath made it dry, and, all the streams, hath he dried up, - withered are Bashan and Carmel, Even the bloom of Lebanon, is withered:

The shield of his heroes, is made red, the men of war, are clad in crimson, on fire, are the chariot-steels, on the day he maketh ready, - and, the lances, are put in motion.

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.

Yet, as for Nineveh, like a reservoir of waters, are her waters, - but, those men, are in flight! Stand! stand but no one is turning.

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.

Thy mercenary crowds, are like the swarming locust, and, thy mixed multitudes, like locusts - swarms of locusts, - which settle in the hedges on a cold day, the sun, hath broken forth, and they are in flight, and unknown is the place where they are!

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.