1
A Message concerning Moab: Village Ar of Moab is in ruins, destroyed in a night raid. Village Kir of Moab is in ruins, destroyed in a night raid. Village Dibon climbs to its chapel in the hills, goes up to lament. Moab weeps and wails over Nebo and Medba. Every head is shaved bald, every beard shaved clean. They pour into the streets wearing black, go up on the roofs, take to the town square, Everyone in tears, everyone in grief. Towns Heshbon and Elealeh cry long and loud. The sound carries as far as Jahaz. Moab sobs, shaking in grief. The soul of Moab trembles.
2
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5
Oh, how I grieve for Moab! Refugees stream to Zoar and then on to Eglath-shelishiyah. Up the slopes of Luhith they weep; on the road to Horonaim they cry their loss. The springs of Nimrim are dried up— grass brown, buds stunted, nothing grows. They leave, carrying all their possessions on their backs, everything they own, Making their way as best they can across Willow Creek to safety. Poignant cries reverberate all through Moab, Gut-wrenching sobs as far as Eglaim, heart-racking sobs all the way to Beer-elim. The banks of the Dibon crest with blood, but God has worse in store for Dibon: A lion—a lion to finish off the fugitives, to clean up whoever’s left in the land.
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MSG
1
A Message concerning Moab: Village Ar of Moab is in ruins, destroyed in a night raid. Village Kir of Moab is in ruins, destroyed in a night raid. Village Dibon climbs to its chapel in the hills, goes up to lament. Moab weeps and wails over Nebo and Medba. Every head is shaved bald, every beard shaved clean. They pour into the streets wearing black, go up on the roofs, take to the town square, Everyone in tears, everyone in grief. Towns Heshbon and Elealeh cry long and loud. The sound carries as far as Jahaz. Moab sobs, shaking in grief. The soul of Moab trembles.
2
3
4
5
Oh, how I grieve for Moab! Refugees stream to Zoar and then on to Eglath-shelishiyah. Up the slopes of Luhith they weep; on the road to Horonaim they cry their loss. The springs of Nimrim are dried up— grass brown, buds stunted, nothing grows. They leave, carrying all their possessions on their backs, everything they own, Making their way as best they can across Willow Creek to safety. Poignant cries reverberate all through Moab, Gut-wrenching sobs as far as Eglaim, heart-racking sobs all the way to Beer-elim. The banks of the Dibon crest with blood, but God has worse in store for Dibon: A lion—a lion to finish off the fugitives, to clean up whoever’s left in the land.
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