Study Desk

Fold up, from the ground thy travelling carpet, - O inhabitress of the fortress;

For, thus, saith Yahweh, Behold me! slinging out the inhabitants of the land at this throw, - And I will distress them that they may discover it.

Woe to me! for my grievous injury, Severe, is my wound, - But, I, said, Verily, this, is an affliction and I must bear it:

My tent, is laid waste, And all my tent-cords, are broken, - My children, are gone forth from me and they, are not. There is none, To stretch out any more my tent, Or to set up my curtains.

For the shepherds, have become brutish, And Yahweh, have they not sought, - For this cause, have they not prospered, And, all their flock, is scattered.

The noise of a rumour! lo it hath come! Even a great commotion out of the land of the North, - To make the cities of Judah, A desolation, A den of jackals.