I grind them as fine as the dust of the ground; I crush them and stomp on them like clay in the streets.

Its underparts are the sharp points of potsherds, it leaves its mark in the mud like a threshing sledge.

I grind them as fine windblown dust; I beat them underfoot like clay in the streets.

He lifted me out of the watery pit, out of the slimy mud. He placed my feet on a rock and gave me secure footing.

Rescue me from the mud! Don’t let me sink! Deliver me from those who hate me, from the deep water!

But the wicked are like a surging sea that is unable to be quiet; its waves toss up mud and sand.

Draw yourselves water for a siege! Strengthen your fortifications! Trample the mud and tread the clay! Make mud bricks to strengthen your walls!

Tyre built herself a fortification and piled up silver like dust and gold like the mud of the streets!

So the officials took Jeremiah and put him in the cistern of Malkijah, one of the royal princes, that was in the courtyard of the guardhouse. There was no water in the cistern, only mud. So when they lowered Jeremiah into the cistern with ropes he sank in the mud.

I have stirred up one out of the north and he advances, one from the eastern horizon who prays in my name. He steps on rulers as if they were clay, like a potter treading the clay.

When my enemies see this, they will be covered with shame. They say to me, “Where is the Lord your God?” I will gloat over them. Then they will be trampled down like mud in the streets.

And they will be like warriors trampling the mud of the streets in battle. They will fight, for the Lord will be with them, and will defeat the enemy cavalry.