The burden against Tyre. Wail, you ships of Tarshish! For it is laid waste, So that there is no house, no harbor; From the land of Cyprus it is revealed to them. Be still, you inhabitants of the coastland, You merchants of Sidon, Whom those who cross the sea have filled. And on great waters the grain of Shihor, The harvest of the River, is her revenue; And she is a marketplace for the nations. Be ashamed, O Sidon; For the sea has spoken, The strength of the sea, saying, “I do not labor, nor bring forth children; Neither do I rear young men, Nor bring up virgins.” When the report reaches Egypt, They also will be in agony at the report of Tyre. Cross over to Tarshish; Wail, you inhabitants of the coastland! Is this your joyous city, Whose antiquity is from ancient days, Whose feet carried her far off to dwell? Who has taken this counsel against Tyre, the crowning city, Whose merchants are princes, Whose traders are the honorable of the earth?
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