Yea the pine-trees, make mirth at thee, Cedars of Lebanon, Since thou wast laid low, No feller hath come up against us!

What can I say? Since he hath promised for me, Himself, will perform. I will go softly, all my years. Because of the bitterness of my soul,

Of the travail of his soul, shall he see He shall be satisfied with his knowledge, A setting right when set right himself, shall my Servant win for the Many, Since of their iniquities, he, taketh the burden.