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22 The burden of the Valley of Vision. What -- to thee, now, that thou hast gone up, All of thee -- to the roofs?

Full of stirs -- a noisy city -- an exulting city, Thy pierced are not pierced of the sword, Nor dead in battle.

All thy rulers fled together from the bow, Bound have been all found of thee, They have been kept bound together, Afar off they have fled.

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