Green he `is' before the sun, And over his garden his branch goeth out.
I -- I have seen the perverse taking root, And I mark his habitation straightway,
By a heap his roots are wrapped, A house of stones he looketh for.
It sendeth forth its branches unto the sea, And unto the river its sucklings.
`An olive, green, fair, of goodly fruit,' Hath Jehovah called thy name, At the noise of a great tumult He hath kindled fire against it, And broken have been its thin branches.