س ُنَّ للِذَّبحِ، وَصُقِلَ حَتَّى صارَ يَلمَعُ كَالبَرقِ. يا بُنَيَّ، لَقَدْ هَرَبْتَ مِنْ عَصا عِقابِي، رَفَضْتَ العِقابَ بِتِلكَ العَصا الخَشَبِيَّةِ!
Sharpened to make a dreadful slaughter, Polished to flash like lightning! Should we then make mirth? It despises the scepter of My son, As it does all wood.
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