In their streets they wear sackcloth; on their roofs and in their town squares all of them wail, they fall down weeping.

At that time the sovereign master, the Lord who commands armies, called for weeping and mourning, for shaved heads and sackcloth.

Jerusalem will bring me joy, and my people will bring me happiness. The sound of weeping or cries of sorrow will never be heard in her again.

They went up to the temple, the people of Dibon went up to the high places to lament. Because of what happened to Nebo and Medeba, Moab wails. Every head is shaved bare, every beard is trimmed off.

So I weep along with Jazer over the vines of Sibmah. I will saturate you with my tears, Heshbon and Elealeh, for the conquering invaders shout triumphantly over your fruit and crops.

So I say: “Don’t look at me! I am weeping bitterly. Don’t try to console me concerning the destruction of my defenseless people.”

My heart cries out because of Moab’s plight, and for the fugitives stretched out as far as Zoar and Eglath Shelishiyah. For they weep as they make their way up the ascent of Luhith; they loudly lament their demise on the road to Horonaim.