“The very land trembles in terror, writhes in pain,terrorized by my plans against Babylon,Plans to turn the country of Babyloninto a lifeless moonscape—a wasteland.Babylon’s soldiers have quit fighting.They hide out in ruins and caves—Cowards who’ve given up without a fight,exposed as cowering milksops.Babylon’s houses are going up in flames,the city gates torn off their hinges.Runner after runner comes racing in,each on the heels of the last,Bringing reports to the king of Babylonthat his city is a lost cause.The fords of the rivers are all taken.Wildfire rages through the swamp grass.Soldiers desert left and right.I, God-of-the-Angel-Armies, said it would happen:‘Daughter Babylon is a threshing floorat threshing time.Soon, oh very soon, her harvest will comeand then the chaff will fly!’