For in a night, Ar of Moab is laid waste and Moab wails over Nebo and over Medeba Baldness is on all of their heads. Every beard is cut off. Everyone wails and cries out. They go up by the ascent of Luhith with weeping. For the waters of Nimrim will be desolate. For the grass has withered away. The waters of Dimon are full of blood.
Good counsel, Lord – Hide the outcasts, don’t betray the fugitive. The fields of Berbon have become a wasteland. Do not weep for the vine of Sibmah. War-cries came in the harvest, there is no more song. They took the goods that they had gathered over the stream. They may pray at the altars, it will be of no use. Theirs will be a bed of worms.