He is moist before the sun, and his tender plants shoot forth on his garden.
I have seen the foolish one taking root, but suddenly I cursed his abode.
His roots are wrapped around a heap; he sees a house of stones.
It was sending its boughs out to the sea, and its branches to the River.
Jehovah called your name, a green olive tree, fair, with fine fruit. With the sound of a great roaring, He has set fire to it, and its branches are bad.