Study Desk

Your shepherds are sleeping, O king of Assyria; Your officers are lying down. Your people are scattered on the mountains And there is no one to gather them.

Thy shepherds slumber, O king of Assyria: thy nobles shall dwell in the dust: thy people is scattered upon the mountains, and no man gathereth them.

There is no relief for your collapse, Your wound is incurable. All who hear about you Will clap their hands over you, For upon whom has your evil not come continually?

There is no healing of thy bruise; thy wound is grievous: all that hear the bruit of thee shall clap the hands over thee: for upon whom hath not thy wickedness passed continually?