Translations
Sharpened for slaughter, burnished to blaze — shall we then rejoice? The scepter of My son scorns every stick of wood.
Sharpened for slaughter, polished to flash like lightning! Shall we then rejoice? The rod of My son despises every tree.
It is sharpened to make a sore slaughter; it is furbished that it may glitter: should we then make mirth? it contemneth the rod of my son, as every tree.
it is sharpened for the slaughter, polished to flash like lightning! Should we rejoice in the scepter of My son? The sword despises every such stick.

