17 Where birds do make nests, The stork -- the firs 'are' her house.
18 The high hills 'are' for wild goats, Rocks 'are' a refuge for conies,
19 He made the moon for seasons, The sun hath known his place of entrance.
20 Thou settest darkness, and it is night, In it doth every beast of the forest creep.
21 The young lions are roaring for prey, And to seek from God their food.
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