1The word about the waste land. As storm-winds in the South go rushing through, it comes from the waste land, from the land greatly to be feared.
2A vision of fear comes before my eyes; the worker of deceit goes on in his false way, and the waster goes on making waste. Up! Elam; to the attack! Media; I have put an end to her sorrow.
3For this cause I am full of bitter grief; pains like the pains of a woman in childbirth have come on me: I am bent down with sorrow at what comes to my ears; I am shocked by what I see.
4My mind is wandering, fear has overcome me: the evening of my desire has been turned into shaking for me.
5They make ready the table, they put down the covers, they take food and drink. Up! you captains; put oil on your breastplates.
6For so has the Lord said to me, Go, let a watchman be placed; let him give word of what he sees:
7And when he sees war-carriages, horsemen by twos, war-carriages with asses, war-carriages with camels, let him give special attention.
