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HAB C1 C2 C3

Moff HAB Chapter 2

◄ HAB 2 ► ║ ═ ©

2 On my watch-tower I will stand,

at my post upon the turret,

watching to see what he will say to me,

what answer he will offer to my plea.

Then answered the Eternal,

“Take down this oracle on your tablets

plainly, that one may read it at a glance.

The vision has its own appointed hour,

it ripens, it will flower;

if it be long, then wait,

for it is sure, and it will not be late.

‘Yon impious man! his powers shall fail him;

the good man lasts and lives as he is faithful. . . . . . . . .

Besides that wine beguiles him, he is a braggart,

restless, rapacious as the grave,

like Death, he never has enough;

he would sweep all nations in,

he would rake in every race.

Shall not they all taunt him in chorus,

and shout this satire at him?--

Woe to him who heaps up plunder (ah, how long!),

loading himself with what he must repay!

Shall not your victims suddenly arise,

and men awake to make you shake?--

then you shall be their prey.

Many a nation you have harried,

so the rest shall harry you,

for the blood you shed, for your devastation

of earth and every town and nation.

Woe to him who stores ill-gotten gains,

seeking to set his nest on high,

safe from the clutches of calamity!

You have planned the down-come of your house,

by cutting off many a nation--

so have you forfeited your life.

Woe to him who builds a city up by bloodshed,

founds a town on crime!

For the stone shall cry from the wall,

and the lath from the woodwork echo the call.

Has not the Lord of hosts ordained,

that “the toil of the nations ends in smoke,”

and “peoples wear themselves out for naught”:

“’tis the knowledge of the Eternal’s glory that shall fill the earth,

as waters cover the bed of the sea.”

Woe to him who makes his neighbours drain the goblet of his fury,

and makes them drunk, to gloat on their disgrace!

Drink yourself now and stagger,

for the cup in the Eternal’s hand comes round to you,

and shame, not glory, gluts you; 17 your ravaging of Lebanon shall crush you,

your slaughtering of beasts shall break you--

yes and the blood you shed, your devastation

of earth and every town and nation.

Woe to him who prays a wooden thing to “waken,”

bids a dumb stone “rise”!

Can that give any guidance,

cased in gold and silver as it lies,

no breath of life within?

What use is it to carve an image,

to mould an image--a false guide?

What use for any moulder to rely on that,

fashioning idols dumb?

But the Eternal is within his sacred temple;

hush, all men, he is here!’ ” * * *

HAB C1 C2 C3