^{10 Ref} Thy mother `is' as a vine in thy blood by waters planted, Fruitful and full of boughs it hath been, Because of many waters.

^{11 Ref} And it hath strong rods for sceptres of rulers, And high is its stature above thick branches, And it appeareth in its height In the multitude of its thin shoots.

^{12 Ref} And it is plucked up in fury, To the earth it hath been cast, And the east wind hath dried up its fruit, Broken and withered hath been the rod of its strength, Fire hath consumed it.

^{13 Ref} And now -- it is planted in a wilderness, In a land dry and thirsty.