26-32 “‘Your sailors row mightily,
taking you into the high seas.
Then a storm out of the east
shatters your ship in the ocean deep.
Everything sinks—your rich goods and products,
sailors and crew, ship’s carpenters and soldiers,
Sink to the bottom of the sea.
The cries of your sailors
reverberate on shore.
Sailors everywhere abandon ship.
Veteran seamen swim for dry land.
They cry out in grief,
a choir of bitter lament over you.
They smear their faces with ashes,
shave their heads,
Wear rough burlap,
wildly keening their loss.
They raise their funeral song:
“Who on the high seas is like Tyre!”