“To be a city will Damascus cease,
and what she will become: a heap of ruins.
Forever will, deserted, be, her towns;
for flocks, they will be places, which lie down
and rest, there’s no one to disturb them there.
From Ephraim will its fortress disappear,
from sovereignty, away, Damascus veers;
and then how Aram’s remnant will be like,
the glory of the children, Israelite,”
this is the word of him the LORD of Hosts.
“That day will Jacob’s glory be brought low,
and lean, how, of his flesh, its fat will grow.
As when a reaper gathers standing grain
by armfuls, ears, what they are harvesting,
or as one gleans the ears in Rephaim’s vale,
or as when beaten is the olive tree
and only gleanings are left to retrieve,
they’re on the topmost branch, two berries, three,
upon its fruitful boughs, just five, or four,”
the LORD, the God of Is’rael, this, his word.
That day, a man will, to his Maker, look,
his eyes, to Israel’s Holy One, will train.
He will no longer, to his handiwork,
look to his altars, or what they have made,
such worship objects, by his fingers, own,
the incense altars and the sacred poles.
That day, how their strong cities will be like
the places of the Hivites, Amorites
that they deserted at Is’rael’s advance,
those they abandoned, they shall be laid waste.
Since you, of your deliverance, forgot,
the God who saved you, also, you did not
remember him, your stronghold place, your Rock.
Therefore, though you will, pleasure gardens, plant,
out for a foreign god, your cuttings, set,
the day you plant them, you get them to grow,
they’re flow’ring in the morning when you sow,
yet quickly, on, that harvest fades away,
of grief, pain that’s incurable, the day.
Disaster! It’s the thunder of vast hordes,
a thunder like the thunder of the sea!
The nations, how, like mighty floods, they roar,
but he rebukes them, far away they flee,
on mountains, chased like chaff, the wind, before,
and whirling dust that blows before the storm.
In evening time, it’s terror that they spread!
But by the morning time they’ve disappeared.
Of those who, us, despoil, this is their fate,
of those who plunder us, this is their lot.
The ruler of the land, to him, send lambs,
from Sela, of the desert, by its way,
to daughter Zion’s mount. Like those outcast,
birds, flutt’ring, scattered nestlings, at the place
are Moab’s women, at the Arnon’s fords.
“Now give us counsel, justice, us, provide;
make it like night, at the noon’s height, your shade;
the outcasts are the ones whom you should hide,
and also don’t, the fugitives, betray;
let Moab’s exiles find with you a place;
to them, be refuge, in destruction’s face.”
Once the oppression’s past, the ruin, complete,
when, from the land, gone, the aggressor’s heel,
then how a throne, established, it will be,
in David’s tent, and on it there will sit
a ruler, judge, who, justice, always seeks,
and doing what is right, at that, he’s swift.
We’ve heard how great is Moab’s haughtiness–
how proud he is! His pride, his arrogance,
and too his insolence; his boasts are false.
Therefore let Moab wail for Moab’s sake.
Kir-Hareseth, for all its raisin cakes,
you mourn, with grief, your heart will, stricken, be.
For Heshbon’s vineyards all are withering,
the grapes that once, on Sibmah’s vines, had hung,
whose clusters made the lords of nations drunk,
those vines, as far as Jazer, where they reached,
out to the desert, they went windingly,
its spreading branches, over, crossed, the sea.
Therefore with Jazer’s weeping, I will weep,
for Sibmah’s vines; I drench you with my tears,
O Heshbon and Elealeh; for ceased,
the shout, the harvest of your fruit, has, o’er,
and too, the harvest of your grain, no more.
Away, both joy and gladness, taken are,
from the field, fruitful; in the vineyard’s place,
no songs are sung and no more shouts are raised;
no treader in the presses, wine, treads out,
and also hushed is it, the vintage-shout!
Therefore for Moab, harp-like, throbs my heart
and too my very soul for Kir-heres.
Though all, to worship, come, the Moabites,
and, they, themselves, will weary, at their shrines,
they to their sanctuaries flock to pray,
despite that, nothing, them, will it avail.
These words the LORD spoke of the former days,
concerning Moab, but the LORD now says,
“Just as a worker, hour’ly, them, would count,
in three years, Moab’s glory it derives
from its great populace, it will be brought
into contempt and those who still survive
will be both few and feeble in their lives.”
Because, just in a night, laid waste is Ar,
undone is Moab; too, because of Kir,
how it’s laid waste, so Moab is undone.
Up to the temples, so that, weep, they can,
Dibon’s, her people; over both of them,
it’s Nebo and Medeba, Moab wails.
Each head is bald and ev’ry beard is shaved;
out in the streets it’s sackcloth that they wear,
they cry from rooftops, in the public squares,
wails, everyone, as well, they melt in tears.
Both Hesbon and Elealeh cry out,
their voices are heard as far as Jahaz.
Alarmed are Moab’s warriors, most stout;
and all their courage, quick to melt away.
My heart cries out for Moab in distress;
to Zoar, where they flee, his fugitives.
They go out to Eglath-Shelishiyah.
On the ascent to Luhith, how they go
up weeping; there, on Horonaim, the road,
destruction, of, a cry is what they raise;
the waters of Nimrim became a waste;
the grass is withered and the new growth fails,
and not a single green thing is sustained.
Therefore, all the abundance that they gained,
what they laid up, where it’s carried away,
o’er Wadi Arabim. For what has gone,
a cry to Moab’s frontiers, all around;
their wailing reaches, Eglaim, Beer-elim,
from both. With blood, the waters of Dibon
are full; yet even worse, I’ll bring upon
Dibon–for the survivors of Moab,
a lion, for the remnant in the land.
On Jacob will the LORD, compassion, have,
and, his choice, Is’rael, he will make, again.
He will resettle them in their own land;
and, come to join them there, will, aliens,
to Jacob’s people they’ll, themselves, attach.
Her homeland, to, the nations will escort
her, Israel, and she will, them, take o’er,
possessing them as male and female slaves
in the LORD’s land; her captors, she will take
them captive, and she will, in the same way,
those who oppressed her, lord it over them.
The LORD relieves, that day, upon, is when,
your pain and turmoil, the hard service with
which you were made to serve, you’ll take up this:
a taunt, the king of Babylon against:
See, the oppressor, still, become, how has!
It’s ceased, it’s stilled, his raging arrogance!
The LORD has broken off the wicked’s staff,
the rod that wicked tyrants have in hand,
that downward struck the people in their wrath
with blows unceasing, that, in anger, ruled,
the nations endlessly, they’d persecute.
The whole earth is both quiet and at rest;
to singing, they break forth. The cypresses
exalt o’er you, of Lebanon, the trees,
its cedars, over you, rejoicingly.
“Since you have been laid low,” they say aloud,
“no woodsmen ever comes to chop us down.”
It’s Sheol ‘neath that’s upwards stirred to meet
you when you come; it’s roused the shades to greet
you, all of them who once the earth did lead;
it raises all them from their thronely seats,
all who were, of the many nations, kings.
These words are how all of them will, you, greet:
“You also have become as weak as we!
Like us, you are positioned sim’larly!”
Brought down to Sheol, all your pride and pomp,
as well cast there, the soundings of your harps;
your mattress, maggots, you, they’re underneath,
and worms, a blanket for your covering.
How is it you, from heaven, fallen, are,
the Son of Dawn, O you, the Morning Star!
How did you come to be thrown to the ground,
you conqueror of nations are cut down!
Within your heart you said, “I will ascend
to heaven; there is where my throne I’ll set,
above the stars of God, I’ll take my seat;
up to the mountains high where gods will meet,
in the far recess of the northern reach.
Up to their tops, the clouds, ascend, I will.
like the Most High, how I will make myself.”
Instead you, down to Sheol, will be brought,
you’ll go to the recesses of the Pit!
When they see you, you, they will scrutinize
and, what you have become, they’ll analyze:
“Is this the man who, tremble, the earth, made,
and he the one who made the kingdoms shake,
who, like a desert, turned the world into
and all its cities, them, he overthrew,
and never let his prisoners go home?”
All other kings of nations, all of them
lie hon’rably, each one in his own tomb,
but you, unburied, out, where you’ve been thrown,
you’re likened to some loathsome carrion,
a carcass that’s been trampled underfoot.
You’re covered by the dead the sword has pierced,
who have been cast down into the abyss.
You won’t, with them, in burial, be joined,
because your land is what you have destroyed,
and all your people, those, the ones you killed.
May the descendants of such evildo’ers
ne’er more be named! Because their fathers’ guilt,
the slaughter of the sons should be prepared.
Rise to possess the earth, let them not e’er,
or, with their cities, cover the world o’er.
Declares the Lord of Hosts, “‘Gainst them I’ll rise
and off from Babylon I will excise
whatever that would in that place remain,
her offspring, her posterity, her name,”
declares the LORD. “It, into, I shall make
a haunt for hedgehogs and a marshland waste.
It’s with destruction’s broom I’ll sweep that place,”
the LORD of Hosts, this is the word he says.
The LORD of Hosts has sworn, “As I’ve designed
so shall it be; and just as I have planned,
so my intention, what will come to pass.
In my land, I’ll break the Assyrian.
Upon my mountains, I will trample him.
Removed, the yoke, from off of them will lift,
his burden will, from off their shoulders, slip.
This is the plan prepared for the whole world,
and this, the hand stretched, all the nations, o’er.
For this, the LORD of Hosts himself has planned
and who will, it, annul? Outstretched his hand,
and who is powerful to turn it back?”
King Ahaz died, it was in that same year,
this oracle from God to Is’rael’s ears:
All of you Philistines, do not rejoice,
‘cause broken’s now the rod that, you, chastised;
a viper shall be born of serpent stock,
its offspring is a dragon that can fly.
The firstborn of the poor will graze their flocks,
the destitute will, downwards, safely lie,
but, die of famine, I’ll, your offspring, make,
and all your remnant, even them, I’ll slay.
You gate, wail! Howl, you city! Melt away,
all of you Philistines! A cloud of smoke
comes from the north, and there’s not in its ranks
a straggler found. What answer, be giv’n, shall,
unto the envoys of, the nations, all?
“It’s Zion that the LORD established firm,
and, will his people, those afflicted, who’re,
a refuge, what it is they find in her.”
The oracle concerning Babylon
seen by Isaiah, Amoz, of, the son.
Upon a wind-swept height, the standard, hoist,
the call to battle, sound, and their advance,
the Nobles’ Gate, wave them there with your hand.
I’ve issued orders to my fighting men,
my warriors called, they’ve answered my command,
how they are eager for my victory,
to execute my anger, faithfully.
The mountains, on, a tumult, what is heard,
just like the sound of a great multitude!
It is the kingdoms, how they’re clamoring,
the nations’ noises of assembling.
The LORD of hosts, what he is mustering,
an army that’s, for battle, threatening.
Their origin is from a distant land,
from heaven’s ends and, the horizon, past,
the LORD is with the weapons of his wrath
that he will use to, the whole earth, lay waste.
Wail, for the day, that of the LORD, is near;
from the Almighty, where destruction’s made!
Enfeebled, how each person’s hands appear,
each human heart, with terror, melts away,
and everyone with anguish, they will writhe.
The pangs of agony will grip them fast;
a woman who’s in labor, that’s just like.
At one another, they will look aghast;
enfevered, how their faces are aflame.
See how it comes, that of the LORD, his day,
cruel, with fierce anger, and as well with wrath,
to desolation, to reduce the earth,
and all the wicked, from it, to destroy.
For all the stars that in the heavens shine,
their constellations will not give forth light;
it will be dark, the sun, when it will rise,
the moon, its light, no longer shines as bright.
Disaster on the world I will inflict,
and on the wicked bring due punishment,
their pride, I’ll end that of the arrogant,
of tyrants, I’ll lay low their insolence.
I will make mortals, than fine gold, more rare
and humans scarcer than gold from Ophir.
Therefore, the heavens tremble, I will make,
from its foundations, I, the earth, will shake,
the LORD of hosts, at that, his wrath, his rage,
that of his burning anger, on the day.
Like a gazelle a hunter has pursued,
or like some sheep whose shepherd’s been removed.
The people, all, to their own kind, turn toward,
and everyone, to their own lands, will flee.
Whoever’s found, they will fall by the sword,
and ev’ry person caught, run through, they’ll be.
Their infants will be battered ‘fore their eyes
to death, their houses looted, raped, their wives.
See I, the Medes, against them, up, have stirred,
who, what they have for silver, no regard,
and neither will they, tempted, be, by gold.
To slaughter the young men, their bows they’ll use,
they’ll have no mercy on the womb, its fruit,
no pity on the children in their eyes.
A kingdom glorious is Babylon,
it’s the Chaldeans’ splendor and their pride.
Like Sodom and Gomorrah, overthrown,
they’ll be by God. There, no one will reside,
and for the ages, no one will, there, live,
no Arab ever will, his tent, there, pitch.
There, shepherds will no longer fold their flocks.
The desert beasts, their haunts, there, they will make,
their homes, for owls, will be a dwelling place.
There, ostriches will settle in their homes,
and gamb’ling there will be the demon goats.
Hyenas in her towers make their cries,
her mansions, jackals, they will occupy.
Her doom is what is very soon to come,
her final days do not have long to run.
T.H. Chalm 