So my heart constantly sighs for Moab, like the strumming of a harp, ¹  my inner being sighs ²  for Kir Hareseth. ³ 

It shatters in pieces like a clay jar, so shattered to bits that none of it can be salvaged. ¹  Among its fragments one cannot find a shard large enough ²  to scoop a hot coal from a fire ³  or to skim off water from a cistern.” ⁴ 

One who argues with his creator is in grave danger, ¹  one who is like a mere ²  shard among the other shards on the ground! The clay should not say to the potter, ³  “What in the world ⁴  are you doing? Your work lacks skill!” ⁵