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15 Trodden down all my mighty ones hath the Lord in my midst, He proclaimed against me an appointed time, To destroy my young men, A wine-press hath the Lord trodden, To the virgin daughter of Judah.

16 For these I am weeping, My eye, my eye, is running down with waters, For, far from me hath been a comforter, Refreshing my soul, My sons have been desolate, For mighty hath been an enemy.

17 Spread forth hath Zion her hands, There is no comforter for her, Jehovah hath charged concerning Jacob, His neighbours [are] his adversaries, Jerusalem hath become impure among them.

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