The Holy Bible – Knox Translation
The Prophecy of Isaias
Chapter 14
The day of her doom is close at hand, not long the respite that will be granted her.

And now the Lord will have pity on Jacob; on the sons of Israel, his chosen people as of old. On their own lands they shall live undisturbed, whose new inhabitants will make common cause with them, and throw in their lot with Jacob’s race.
Alien peoples will take them by the hand, to escort them back to their home; content now to be Israel’s servants and hand-maidens, the captors captive, the oppressors tributary now.
When that time comes, when the Lord gives thee respite from all the hardship and turmoil and drudgery of old days,
it will be thy turn to have thy say against the king of Babylon. Can it be (thou wilt say) that the tyranny is over, the exactions at an end?
The Lord has broken the staff in the hands of the wicked, the rod that oppressed us;
the rod whose mortal stroke once fell on the peoples so angrily, tamed the nations so cruelly, persecuted, and would not spare.
The whole earth, now, sinks back into ease; listen to its cry of rejoicing!
The very fir-trees and the cedars of Lebanon triumph over thee; no woodman comes near us any longer, since thou wast laid to rest.
The shadow world beneath is astir with preparation for thy coming; wakes up its giants to greet thee. The great ones of the world, that ruled the nations, rise up from the thrones where they sit,
hailing thee with a single voice, Thou too brought low as ourselves, thou too like us!
All thy pride sunk down into the world beneath, and there thy corpse lies, with the moth for its shroud, worms for its cerecloth.

What, fallen from heaven, thou Lucifer, that once didst herald the dawn? Prostrate on the earth, that didst once bring nations to their knees?
I will scale the heavens (such was thy thought); I will set my throne higher than God’s stars, take my seat at his own trysting-place, at the meeting of the northern hills;
I will soar above the level of the clouds, the rival of the most High.
Thine, instead, to be dragged down into the world beneath, into the heart of the abyss.
Who that sees thee there, but will peer down at thee and read thy story: Can this be the man who once shook the world, and made thrones totter;
who turned earth into a desert, its cities into ruins; never granted prisoner release?
For those other kings, honourable burial, each in his own palace;
thee the grave itself rejects, like a withered root, like a thing unclean. Rots thy corpse unrecognized, beneath yonder coverlet of men slain, that went down to the deep pit together;
no fellowship hast thou with those others, no share in their sepulture, thou who didst lead thy country to ruin, thou, who didst bring destruction on thy people. The posterity of the wicked shall be nameless for ever;
for the guilt they have inherited, his sons too must be slain, they must not live to make the land their own, and people the world with cities.
A message from the Lord of hosts: Now I mean to take arms against them, to destroy Babylon name and fame, root and branch.
I will make the place over to the hedge-hog, turn it into standing pools; I will sweep it clean, the Lord of hosts says, sweep it clean away.

And now the Lord of hosts has taken an oath, his doom shall be executed, his design shall stand:
In this my own land I will break the power of Assyria, upon these hills I will trample him under foot. Gone his yoke; there shall be no more shouldering his burden;
such purpose I have for the world’s ordering; my hand once lifted, all the nations must bow.
The Lord’s decree, who shall annul it? The Lord’s power, who shall thwart it?

And in the year of king Achaz’s death, a fresh burden was imposed:
Too soon, Philistia, thou wouldst make public holiday over the breaking of the rod that smote thee. The serpent has gone, but he has left a basilisk stock behind him; a race that can catch birds on the wing.
Here, then, shall be food for the very poorest; beggar man shall lie down in safety; thee I will destroy with famine root and branch, slay all the remnant that is left in thee.
All thy gates, now, must echo with lament, all thy cities ring with cries; all Philistia swoons away. From the north a smoke comes ever nearer, signal of an army none may escape.

Our news when the world asks, what message? Tell them Sion never rested in the Lord so surely; here be friendless folk that trust in him.