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Hesbon and Elealeh cry out in distress;
    their voices are heard as far away as Jahaz.
As a result, the bravest of Moab’s warriors cry out
    and their hearts grow faint.
My heart cries out for Moab;
    her fugitives have arrived close to Zoar,
    at Eglath-shelishiyah.
They climb the slope of Luhith,
    weeping as they make their ascent;
on the road to Horonaim
    they emit heart-rending cries.
The waters of Nimrim
    have become a desolate waste.
The grass is parched,
    the plants have withered away,
    and nothing green can be seen.

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