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13 Over the ground of my people thorn -- brier goeth up, Surely over all houses of joy of the exulting city,

14 Surely the palace hath been left, The multitude of the city forsaken, Fort and watch-tower hath been for dens unto the age, A joy of wild asses -- a pasture of herds;

15 Till emptied out on us is the Spirit from on high, And a wilderness hath become a fruitful field, And the fruitful field for a forest is reckoned.

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