The victorious army, returning from the field, approached the city, their shouts of triumph awaking the echoes of the hills. But as they entered the city gate the shout died away, their banners drooped in their hands, and with downcast gaze they advanced more like those who had suffered defeat than like conquerors. For the king was not waiting to bid them welcome, but from the chamber above the gate his wailing cry was heard, "O my son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!"

Da den sejrrige hær vendte hjem fra slagmarken og nærmede sig byen, rungede sejrsråbene imellem højene. Men da den drog gennem byporten, døde råbene hen, og soldaterne sænkede deres bannere og gik videre med nedslået blik. Nu mindede de mere om en slagen end en sejrrig hær, for kongen havde ikke budt dem velkommen tilbage, men fra stuen over porten kunne de høre ham klage: "Min søn Absalom, min søn, min søn Absalom! Var jeg blot død i dit sted! Absalom, min søn, min søn!"