Chapter 388: A Pink Iron Flower & The Voynich Manuscript

Woe to the majestic crown of Ephraim's drunkards, and to the fading flower of its beautiful splendor, which is on the summit above the rich valley.

Woe to those overcome with wine.

Look, the Lord has a strong and mighty one—like a devastating hail storm, like a storm with strong flooding water. He will bring it across the land with his hand.

The majestic crown of Ephraim's drunkards will be trampled underfoot.

The fading flower of his beautiful splendor, which is on the summit above the rich valley, will be like a ripe fig before the summer harvest. Whoever sees it will swallow it while it is still in his hand.

On that day the Lord of Armies will become a crown of beauty and a diadem of splendor to the remnant of his people, a spirit of justice to the one who sits in judgment, and strength to those who repel attacks at the city gate.

Even these stagger because of wine and stumble under the influence of beer: