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15 But My people have forgotten Me, to a vain thing they make perfume, And they cause them to stumble in their ways -- paths of old, To walk in paths -- a way not raised up,

16 To make their land become a desolation, A hissing age-during, Every passer by it is astonished, And bemoaneth with his head.

17 As an east wind I scatter them before an enemy, The neck, and not the face, I shew them, In the day of their calamity.'

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