Nahum.
Chapter 3.
Woe to the city of blood, || She is all full with lies and burglary, || Prey does not depart. 
The sound of a whip, || And the sound of the rattling of a wheel, || And of a prancing horse, and of a bounding chariot, || Of a horseman mounting. 
And the flame of a sword, and the lightning of a spear, || And the abundance of the wounded, || And the weight of carcasses, || Indeed, there is no end to the bodies, || They stumble over their bodies. 
Because of the abundance of the fornications of a harlot, || The goodness of the grace of the lady of witchcrafts, || Who is selling nations by her fornications, || And families by her witchcrafts. 
“Behold, I am against you,” || A declaration of YHWH of Hosts, || “And have removed your skirts before your face, || And have showed nations your nakedness, || And kingdoms your shame, 
And I have cast on you abominations, || And dishonored you, and made you as a sight. 
And it has come to pass, || Each of your beholders flees from you, || And has said: Nineveh is spoiled, || Who bemoans for her? From where do I seek comforters for you?” 
Are you better than No-Ammon, || That is dwelling among brooks? Waters she has around her, || Whose bulwark is the sea, waters her wall. 
Cush her might, and Egypt, and there is no end. Put and Lubim have been for your help. 
Even she becomes an exile, || She has gone into captivity, || Even her sucklings are dashed to pieces || At the top of all out-places, || And for her honored ones they cast a lot, || And all her great ones have been bound in chains. 
Even you are drunken, you are hidden, || Even you seek a strong place, because of an enemy. 
All your fortresses are fig trees with first-fruits, || If they are shaken, || They have fallen into the mouth of the eater. 
Behold, your people are women in your midst, || To your enemies thoroughly opened || Have been the gates of your land, || Fire has consumed your bars. 
Waters of a siege draw for yourself, || Strengthen your fortresses, || Enter into mire, and tread on clay, || Make strong a brick-kiln. 
There a fire consumes you, || A sword cuts you off, || It consumes you as a cankerworm! Make yourself heavy as the cankerworm, || Make yourself heavy as the locust. 
Multiply your merchants above the stars of the heavens, || The cankerworm has stripped off, and flees away. 
Your crowned ones are as a locust, || And your princes as great grasshoppers, || That encamp in hedges in a day of cold, || The sun has risen, and it flees away, || And its place where they are is not known. 
Your friends have slumbered, king of Asshur, || Your majestic ones rest, || Your people have been scattered on the mountains, || And there is none gathering. 
There is no weakening of your destruction, || Your striking is grievous, || All hearing your fame have clapped the hand at you, || For over whom did your wickedness not pass continually?
