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Isaiah 57:20 - Revised Version with Apocrypha 1895

20 But the wicked are like the troubled sea; for it cannot rest, and its waters cast up mire and dirt.

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More versions

King James Version (Oxford) 1769

20 But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt.

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Amplified Bible - Classic Edition

20 But the wicked are like the troubled sea, for it cannot rest, and its waters cast up mire and dirt.

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American Standard Version (1901)

20 But the wicked are like the troubled sea; for it cannot rest, and its waters cast up mire and dirt.

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Common English Bible

20 But the wicked are like the churning sea that can’t keep still. They churn up from their waters muck and mud.

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Catholic Public Domain Version

20 But the impious are like the raging sea, which is not able to be quieted, and its waves stir up dirt and mud.

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Douay-Rheims version of The Bible - 1752 version

20 But the wicked are like the raging sea which cannot rest: and the waves thereof cast up dirt and mire.

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Isaiah 57:20
13 Cross References  

And the heart of the king of Syria was sore troubled for this thing; and he called his servants, and said unto them, Will ye not shew me which of us is for the king of Israel?


Woe unto the wicked! it shall be ill with him: for the reward of his hands shall be given him.


The shew of their countenance doth witness against them; and they declare their sin as Sodom, they hide it not. Woe unto their soul! for they have rewarded evil unto themselves.


There is no peace, saith the LORD, unto the wicked.


The way of peace they know not; and there is no judgement in their goings: they have made them crooked paths; whosoever goeth therein doth not know peace.


Of Damascus. Hamath is ashamed, and Arpad; for they have heard evil tidings, they are melted away: there is sorrow on the sea; it cannot be quiet.


These are they who are hidden rocks in your love-feasts when they feast with you, shepherds that without fear feed themselves; clouds without water, carried along by winds; autumn trees without fruit, twice dead, plucked up by the roots;


Wild waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, for whom the blackness of darkness hath been reserved for ever.


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