12. I make man more rare than fine gold, And a common man than pure gold of Ophir.
13. Therefore the heavens I cause to tremble, And the earth doth shake from its place, In the wrath of Jehovah of Hosts, And in a day of the heat of his anger.
14. And it hath been, as a roe driven away, And as a flock that hath no gatherer, Each unto his people--they turn, And each unto his land--they flee.
15. Every one who is found is thrust through, And every one who is added falleth by sword.
16. And their sucklings are dashed to pieces before their eyes, Spoiled are their houses, and their wives lain with.
17. Lo, I am stirring up against them the Medes, Who silver esteem not, And gold--they delight not in it.
18. And bows dash young men to pieces, And the fruit of the womb they pity not, On sons their eye hath no pity.