“I will punish her for the days of the Baals
When she used to offer sacrifices to them
And adorn herself with her earrings and jewelry,
And follow her lovers, so that she forgot Me,” declares the Lord.
And behold, a woman comes to meet him,
Dressed as a harlot and cunning of heart.
She sits at the doorway of her house, On a seat by the high places of the city, Calling to those who pass by, Who are making their paths straight: "Whoever is naive, let him turn in here," And to him who lacks understanding she says, read more.
"Stolen water is sweet; And bread eaten in secret is pleasant."
Now in that day Tyre will be forgotten for seventy years like the days of one king. At the end of seventy years it will happen to Tyre as in the song of the harlot: Take your harp, walk about the city, O forgotten harlot; Pluck the strings skillfully, sing many songs, That you may be remembered.
Their banquets are accompanied by lyre and harp, by tambourine and flute, and by wine;
But they do not pay attention to the deeds of the Lord,
Nor do they consider the work of His hands.
And the sound of harpists and musicians and flute-players and trumpeters will not be heard in you any longer; and no craftsman of any craft will be found in you any longer; and the sound of a mill will not be heard in you any longer;
Why did you flee secretly and deceive me, and did not tell me so that I might have sent you away with joy and with songs, with timbrel and with lyre;
The gaiety of tambourines ceases,
The noise of revelers stops,
The gaiety of the harp ceases.
"They send forth their little ones like the flock, And their children skip about. "They sing to the timbrel and harp And rejoice at the sound of the flute.
Take your harp, walk about the city,
O forgotten harlot;
Pluck the strings skillfully, sing many songs,
That you may be remembered.
And every blow of the rod of punishment,
Which the Lord will lay on him,
Will be with the music of tambourines and lyres;
And in battles, brandishing weapons, He will fight them.
So I will silence the sound of your songs, and the sound of your harps will be heard no more.
Take your harp, walk about the city, O forgotten harlot; Pluck the strings skillfully, sing many songs, That you may be remembered. It will come about at the end of seventy years that the LORD will visit Tyre Then she will go back to her harlot's wages and will play the harlot with all the kingdoms on the face of the earth.