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My heart cries with sorrow for Moab.
    Its people run away to Zoar for safety;
    they run to Eglath Shelishiyah.
People are going up the mountain road to Luhith,
    crying as they go.
People are going on the road to Horonaim,
    crying over their destruction.
But the water of Nimrim has dried up.
    The grass has dried up,
and all the plants are dead;
    nothing green is left.
So the people gather up what they have saved
    and carry it across the Ravine of the Poplars.

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