14 They have blown with a trumpet to prepare the whole, And none is going to battle, For My wrath 'is' unto all its multitude.
15 The sword 'is' without, And the pestilence and the famine within, He who is in a field by sword dieth, And he who is in a city, Famine and pestilence devour him.
16 And escaped away have their fugitives, And they have been on the mountains As doves of the valleys, All of them make a noising -- each for his iniquity.
17 All the hands are feeble, and all knees go -- waters.
18 And they have girded on sackcloth, And covered them hath trembling, And unto all faces 'is' shame, And on all their heads -- baldness.
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