The shield of his mighty ones is become red, Men of might are in scarlet, With fiery torches is the chariot in a day of his preparation, And the firs have been caused to tremble.

Even she doth become an exile, She hath gone into captivity, Even her sucklings are dashed to pieces At the top of all out-places, And for her honoured ones they cast a lot, And all her great ones have been bound in fetters.