Nahum 3:1-19

Doomed is the city of bloodshed, embodiment of treachery and thievery, where the murdering never stops! Listen to the crack of the whip, the rumble of the chariot wheels, the thunder of horses’ hooves, and charging chariots. Horsemen advancing, gleaming swords and glistening spears, hosts of slain, heaps of corpses, dead bodies, too many to count. People stumble over the carcasses. This is because you lustfully lured the nations like a wanton whore. You acted so gracefully, yet you are a mistress of witchcraft. You sold entire nations into the sex trade and bewitched whole families into slavery. Behold, YAHWEH, Commander of Angel Armies, declares to you: “I am your enemy! I will lift up your skirt over your face, and I will make nations gawk at your nakedness and kingdoms at your shame. I will pelt you with filth and make you an object of scorn and will treat you with contempt. And all who look at you will turn their backs on you and say, ‘Poor Nineveh is a pile of rubble; who will grieve for you? Who will have sympathy for you?’ ” Are you any better than Thebes, which once sat by the Nile surrounded by water, her moat of defense, a mighty river? Ethiopia and Egypt were her endless strength; Somalia and Libya were her helpful allies. Yet the people of Thebes became exiles and were carried off into captivity. Their infants were dashed to pieces on every street corner. They cast lots for her honored men— all the best and brightest were bound in chains and taken captive. You will fall into a drunken stupor. You will go into hiding and seek refuge from the enemy. All your fortified cities are like fig trees with first-ripe figs: shake the tree and they fall right into the open mouth of the eater. Behold, all who remain in the midst of your cities are the women. The borders of your land are wide open to your enemies. Fire will devour your fortresses. Go ahead and draw plenty of water and prepare for the siege. Strengthen your defenses. Get mud, trample the clay, make more bricks. Yet the fire will devour you there. You will be slaughtered by the sword. It will consume you like locusts. You multiplied like hopping locusts and like swarming grasshoppers. Your merchants multiplied until they were more than the stars in the sky. Like locusts they stripped the land, spread their wings, and flew away. Your officials were as numerous as grasshoppers, your scribes like a swarm of locusts. On a cold day, they settle on the stone fences, but when the sun appears, they abandon you and fly away; no one knows where they are. Emperor of Assyria, your shepherds slumber, your nobles nod off to sleep soundly. All your people are like sheep scattered on the mountains with no one to bring them home. There is no remedy for your injuries; your wound is fatal. All who hear the news about you applaud for joy over your downfall. For whoever was untouched by your endless evil?