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My heart cries out for Moab. His men have run away as far as Zoar and Eglath-shelishiyah. For they go up the hill of Luhith crying. On the road to Horonaim they cry in sorrow over their being destroyed. For the waters of Nimrim have been laid waste. The grass is dried up. The new grass died out. There is no green thing. So the many things they have gathered and stored up they carry away over the river of Arabim.

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