That the triumphing of the wicked is short, And the joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment? Though his haughtiness mounts up to the heavens, And his head reaches to the clouds, Yet he will perish forever like his own refuse; Those who have seen him will say, ‘Where is he?’ He will fly away like a dream, and not be found; Yes, he will be chased away like a vision of the night. The eye that saw him will see him no more, Nor will his place behold him anymore.
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