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Let them bemoan their destruction and fall—every last one of them.
    Go ahead, mourn, all you who were struck down;
Cry for the raisin cakes of Kir-hareseth.

The productive fields of Heshbon are withering in the heat;
    the choice vines of Sibmah are decimated.
The rulers of the nations are wreaking havoc across the land,
    crushing its grape clusters and leveling its old stout vines.
Moab’s tender shoots spread from Jazer to the desert,
    then right down to the sea[a] and even across it.

This is why I cry salty tears over Jazer,
    over the vines of Sibmah and over the fields of Heshbon.
And God’s-Ascent, Elealeh, I weep for you—over your branches,
    once so green and strong, now broken and brown with death.
No one rejoices anymore over your fruits and harvest.

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Footnotes

  1. 16:8 The Dead Sea

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