He is green before the sun. His shoots go forth over his garden.
I have seen the foolish taking root, but suddenly I cursed his habitation.
His roots are wrapped around the rock pile. He sees the place of stones.
It sent out its branches to the sea, Its shoots to the River.
The LORD called your name, A green olive tree, beautiful with goodly fruit: with the noise of a great tumult he has kindled fire on it, and the branches of it are broken.