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Before Him goeth pestilence, And a burning flame goeth forth at His feet.

He hath stood, and He measureth earth, He hath seen, and He shaketh off nations, And scatter themselves do mountains of antiquity, Bowed have the hills of old, The ways of old [are] His.

Under sorrow I have seen tents of Cushan, Tremble do curtains of the land of Midian.

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