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.” Such witnesses to upright GOD! My Mountain, my huge, holy Mountain!
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