I weep for you, as Jazer weeps, you vines of Sibmah. Your branches spread as far as the sea ; they reached as far as Jazer. The destroyer has fallen on your ripened fruit and grapes.
Joy and gladness are gone from the orchards and fields of Moab. I have stopped the flow of wine from the presses; no one treads them with shouts of joy. Although there are shouts, they are not shouts of joy.