We all growl like bears, we coo mournfully like doves; we wait for deliverance, but there is none, for salvation, but it is far from us.

So Moab wails over its demise – they all wail! Completely devastated, they moan about what has happened to the raisin cakes of Kir Hareseth.

Your mind will recall the terror you experienced, and you will ask yourselves, “Where is the scribe? Where is the one who weighs the money? Where is the one who counts the towers?”

For your hands are stained with blood and your fingers with sin; your lips speak lies, your tongue utters malicious words.

Like a swallow or a thrush I chirp, I coo like a dove; my eyes grow tired from looking up to the sky. O sovereign master, I am oppressed; help me!

We have rebelled and tried to deceive the Lord; we turned back from following our God. We stir up oppression and rebellion; we tell lies we concocted in our minds.

They will say to you, “Seek oracles at the pits used to conjure up underworld spirits, from the magicians who chirp and mutter incantations. Should people not seek oracles from their gods, by asking the dead about the destiny of the living?”

Indeed, this is what the Lord says to me: “The Lord will be like a growling lion, like a young lion growling over its prey. Though a whole group of shepherds gathers against it, it is not afraid of their shouts or intimidated by their yelling. In this same way the Lord who commands armies will descend to do battle on Mount Zion and on its hill.