But you’ve made me strong as a charging bison, you’ve honored me with a festive parade. The sight of my critics going down is still fresh, the rout of my malicious detractors. My ears are filled with the sounds of promise: “Good people will prosper like palm trees, Grow tall like Lebanon cedars; transplanted to GOD’s courtyard, They’ll grow tall in the presence of God, lithe and green, virile still in old age.”
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