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In their streets they wear sackcloth.
On their housetops and in their plazas,
    everyone wails, weeping profusely.
Heshbon and Elealeh cry out.
Their voice is heard as far as Jahaz.
Therefore the soldiers of Moab cry aloud,
    his soul faints within him.
My heart cries out for Moab.
Her fugitives are as far as Zoar
    as a three year old heifer,
for by the ascent of Luhith
    they go up with weeping,
for on the way of Horonaim
    they raise a cry of distress.

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