¹⁸ Come down from [thy] glory and sit in the drought, O inhabitress, daughter of Dibon; the spoiler of Moab is come up against thee, thy strongholds hath he destroyed.

¹⁴ My dove, in the clefts of the rock, In the covert of the precipice, Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.