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“The wine press I have trodden alone,
    and from the peoples no one was with me.
I trod them in my anger,
    and trampled them down in my wrath;
Their blood spurted on my garments,
    all my apparel I stained.
For a day of vindication was in my heart,
    my year for redeeming had come.(A)
I looked about, but there was no one to help,
    I was appalled that there was no one to lend support;
So my own arm brought me victory
    and my own wrath lent me support.(B)

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