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31 And so I wail over Moab,
    over all Moab I cry,
    over the people of Kir-heres I moan.(A)
32 More than for Jazer I weep for you,
    vine of Sibmah.
Your tendrils trailed down to the sea,
    as far as Jazer they stretched.
Upon your summer harvest and your vintage,
    the destroyer has fallen.(B)
33 Joy and gladness are taken away
    from the garden land, the land of Moab.
I dry up the wine from the wine vats,
    the treader treads no more,
    the vintage shout is stilled.

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