C ry out, O gate. Cry, O city. All you Philistines are weak in heart. For smoke comes from the north, and everyone keeps his place in his army.
Howl, O gate! Cry, O city! Melt away, O Philistia, all of you! For there is coming a smoke out of the north, and there is no straggler in his ranks and none stands aloof.
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