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Chapter 1 Chapter 2

CHAPTER 3

1
Woe
to the city
of blood,
full
of lies,
full of
plunder,
never
without
prey.
2
The crack
of the whip,
the rumble
of the wheel,
galloping
horse
and bounding
chariot!
3
Charging
horseman,
flashing
sword,
shining
spear;
heaps
of slain,
mounds
of corpses,
dead bodies
without
end—
they stumble
over their dead—
4
because of the many
harlotries
of the harlot,
the seductive
mistress
of sorcery,
who betrays
nations
by her prostitution
and clans
by her witchcraft.
5
“Behold,
I am against you,”
declares
the LORD
of Hosts.
“I will lift
your skirts
over
your face.
I will show
your nakedness
to the nations
and your shame
to the kingdoms.
6
I will pelt
you
with filth
and treat you with contempt;
I will make
a spectacle of you.
7
Then
all
who see you
will recoil
from you
and say,
‘Nineveh
is devastated;
who
will grieve for her?’
Where
can I find
comforters
for you?”
8
Are you better
than Thebes,
situated
by the Nile
with water
around her,
whose
rampart
was the sea,
whose wall
was the water?
9
Cush
and Egypt
were her boundless
strength;
Put
and Libya
were
her allies.
10
Yet
she
became an exile;
she went
into captivity.
Her infants
were dashed to pieces
at the head
of every
street.
They cast
lots
for
her dignitaries,
and all
her nobles
were bound
in chains.
11
You
too
will become drunk;
You will go
into hiding
and
seek
refuge
from the enemy.
12
All
your fortresses
are fig trees
with
the first ripe figs;
when
shaken,
they fall
into
the mouth
of the eater!
13
Behold,
your troops
are like your women;
the gates
of your land
are wide open
to your enemies;
fire
consumes
their bars.
14
Draw
your
water
for the siege;
strengthen
your fortresses.
Work
the clay
and tread
the mortar;
repair
the brick kiln!
15
There
the fire
will devour you;
the sword
will cut you down
and consume you
like a young locust.
Make yourself many
like the young locust;
make yourself many
like the swarming locust!
16
You have multiplied
your merchants
more than the stars
of the sky.
The young locust
strips the land
and flies away.
17
Your guardsmen
are like the swarming locust,
and your scribes
like clouds of locusts,
that settle
on the walls
on a cold
day.
When the sun
rises,
they fly away,
and no
one knows
where.
18
O king
of Assyria,
your shepherds
slumber;
your officers
sleep.
Your people
are scattered
on
the mountains
with no one
to gather them.
19
There is no
healing
for your injury;
your wound
is severe.
All
who hear
the news of you
will applaud
your downfall,
for
who
has not
experienced
your endless
cruelty?
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