1 The word about the waste land. As storm-winds in the South go rushing through, it comes from the waste land, from the land greatly to be feared.
2 A vision of fear comes before my eyes; the worker of deceit goes on in his false way, and the waster goes on making waste. Up! Elam; to the attack! Media; I have put an end to her sorrow.
3 For this cause I am full of bitter grief; pains like the pains of a woman in childbirth have come on me: I am bent down with sorrow at what comes to my ears; I am shocked by what I see.
4 My mind is wandering, fear has overcome me: the evening of my desire has been turned into shaking for me.
Share this page