Isaiah opens the little apocalypse: Jehovah empties the earth and turns it upside down, and the judgment falls without respect of station — priest as people, master as servant, lender as borrower, buyer as seller. The covenant has been broken, the everlasting covenant transgressed, and the curse devours. The city of confusion is broken down; mirth ceases; the vintage is gleaned and only a shaking remains. Yet from the isles and the uttermost parts a remnant lifts up the voice and glorifies the name. The host of the high ones and the kings of the earth are gathered as prisoners into the pit, shut up, and after many days visited — a delayed reckoning, not a final one. The chapter closes where the sequence is driving: Jehovah reigning in mount Zion and in Jerusalem before his ancients, sun and moon outshone. Literal Zion, literal reign.