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And I make it a waste, It is not pruned, nor arranged, And gone up have brier and thorn, And on the thick clouds I lay a charge, From raining upon it rain.

Because the vineyard of Jehovah of Hosts [Is] the house of Israel, And the man of Judah His pleasant plant, And He waiteth for judgment, and lo, oppression, For righteousness, and lo, a cry.

Wo [to] those joining house to house, Field to field they bring near, till there is no place, And ye have been settled by yourselves In the midst of the land!

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