17 Stir thyself, stir thyself, rise, Jerusalem, Who hast drunk from the hand of Jehovah The cup of His fury, The goblet, the cup of trembling, thou hast drunk, Thou hast wrung out.
18 There is not a leader to her Out of all the sons she hath borne, And there is none laying hold on her hand Out of all the sons she hath nourished.
19 These two are meeting thee, who is moved for thee? Spoiling and destruction -- Famine and sword, who -- I comfort thee?
20 Thy sons have been wrapt up, they have lain down, At the head of all out places, as a wild ox 'in' a net, They are full of the fury of Jehovah, The rebuke of Thy God.
21 Therefore, hear, I pray thee, this, O afflicted and drunken one, and not with wine,
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