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Drunken Ephraim’s proud crown will be trampled underfoot.
The fading flower of its glorious beauty, on the peak overlooking
        a fertile valley,
    will be like the early figs before summer,
    which someone picks and swallows as soon as he sees them.
On that day the Lord of Armies will become a glorious crown
and a beautifully braided headband for the remnant of his people.

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