The ships of Tarshish were your ocean caravans. Your island warehouse was filled to the brim!
“But look! Your oarsmen have taken you into stormy seas! A mighty eastern gale has wrecked you in the heart of the sea!
Everything is lost— your riches and wares, your sailors and pilots, your ship builders, merchants, and warriors. On the day of your ruin, everyone on board sinks into the depths of the sea.
Your cities by the sea tremble as your pilots cry out in terror.
All the oarsmen abandon their ships; the sailors and pilots stand on the shore.
They cry aloud over you and weep bitterly. They throw dust on their heads and roll in ashes.
They shave their heads in grief for you and dress themselves in burlap. They weep for you with bitter anguish and deep mourning.
As they wail and mourn over you, they sing this sad funeral song: ‘Was there ever such a city as Tyre, now silent at the bottom of the sea?
The merchandise you traded satisfied the desires of many nations. Kings at the ends of the earth were enriched by your trade.
Now you are a wrecked ship, broken at the bottom of the sea. All your merchandise and crew have gone down with you.
All who live along the coastlands are appalled at your terrible fate. Their kings are filled with horror and look on with twisted faces.