An oracle about Moab. Ar was devastated in a night; Moab is ruined! Kir was devastated in a night; Moab is ruined!
Dibon has gone up to the temple, to the shrines to weep. Moab wails over Nebo and over Medeba. Every head is shaved, every beard cut off.
In its streets they wear mourning clothes; on its rooftops and in its plazas, everyone wails and falls down weeping.
Heshbon and Elealeh cry out; as far as Jahaz their voice is heard. The armed men of Moab shout, spirits trembling.
My heart cries out for Moab. Its fugitives flee to Zoar, to Eglath-shelishiyah. At the ascent of Luhith, each will go up with weeping. On the road to Horonaim, they will raise a piercing cry.
The waters of Nimrim are used up. Grass has withered; vegetation is dead; greenery is gone.
Therefore, they carry what they had stored up, all their provisions to the Valley of the Willows.
An outcry sounds within the borders of Moab, as far as Eglaim, a cry of distress, as far as Beer-elim, a cry of distress.
The waters of Dibon are full of blood. But I will bring still more upon Dibon: a lion for Moab's survivors, for the remaining few in the land.