Add parallel Print Page Options

My heart cries out for Moab;
    her fugitives have arrived close to Zoar,
    at Eglath-shelishiyah.
They climb the slope of Luhith,
    weeping as they make their ascent;
on the road to Horonaim
    they emit heart-rending cries.
The waters of Nimrim
    have become a desolate waste.
The grass is parched,
    the plants have withered away,
    and nothing green can be seen.
Therefore, the people carry away
    across the Ravine of the Willows
whatever possessions they can manage
    and the savings they have accumulated.

Read full chapter