The Lantern

Isaiah47

The Humiliation of Babylon

Come down and sit in the dust, virgin daughter of Babylon. Sit on the ground without a throne, daughter of the Chaldeans — for you will no longer be called tender and delicate.

Take millstones and grind flour. Uncover your veil, strip off the skirt, bare the thigh, cross rivers.

Your nakedness will be uncovered, indeed your reproach will be seen. Vengeance I will take, and I will not meet a human.

Our Redeemer — the LORD of hosts is his name, the Holy One of Israel.

Sit in silence and go into darkness, daughter of the Chaldeans — for you will no longer be called mistress of kingdoms.

I was wrathful with my people; I profaned my inheritance and gave them into your hand. You showed them no compassion; on the elder you laid your yoke very heavily.

And you said, Forever I will be a mistress — so that you did not set these things on your heart, you did not remember its outcome.

And now hear this, luxurious one, dwelling securely, who says in her heart, I am, and there is none besides me. I will not sit as a widow, and I will not know bereavement.

And these two will come to you in a moment, in one day: bereavement and widowhood. In their fullness they have come upon you, for the multitude of your sorceries, for the great might of your spells.

And you trusted in your evil; you said, No one sees me. Your wisdom and your knowledge — it has turned you aside; and you said in your heart, I am, and there is none besides me.

And evil will come upon you which you will not know how to charm away, and disaster will fall upon you which you will not be able to atone for; and devastation will come upon you suddenly, which you will not know.

Stand now with your spells and with the multitude of your sorceries, in which you have labored from your youth. Perhaps you will be able to profit; perhaps you will inspire terror.

You are worn out with the multitude of your counsels. Let them stand now and save you — those who divide the heavens, who gaze at the stars, who make known at the new moons what will come upon you.

See, they have become like stubble; fire has burned them. They will not rescue their soul from the power of the flame. There is no coal for warming, no fire to sit before.

So they have become to you, those with whom you labored, your traders from your youth. Each has wandered off his own way; there is none to save you.