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.
BSB
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.
WEB
it is sharpened that it may make a slaughter; it is furbished that it may be as lightning: shall we then make mirth? the rod of my son, it condemns every tree.
YLT
So as to slaughter a slaughter it is sharpened. So as to have brightness it is polished, Desire hath rejoiced the sceptre of my son, It is despising every tree.