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- Tremble, you complacent women; shudder, you daughters who feel secure! Strip off your clothes, put sackcloth around your waists.
- Beat your breasts for the pleasant fields, for the fruitful vines
- and for the land of my people, a land overgrown with thorns and briers-- yes, mourn for all houses of merriment and for this city of revelry.
- The fortress will be abandoned, the noisy city deserted; citadel and watchtower will become a wasteland forever, the delight of donkeys, a pasture for flocks,
- till the Spirit is poured upon us from on high, and the desert becomes a fertile field, and the fertile field seems like a forest.
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