1 O God, the heathen enter’d have
thine heritage; by them
Defiled is thy house: on heaps
they laid Jerusalem.
2 The bodies of thy servants they
have cast forth to be meat
To rav’nous fowls; thy dear saints’ flesh
they gave to beasts to eat.
3 Their blood about Jerusalem
like water they have shed;
And there was none to bury them
when they were slain and dead.
4 Unto our neighbours a reproach
most base become are we;
A scorn and laughingstock to them
that round about us be.
5 How long, Lord, shall thine anger last?
wilt thou still keep the same?
And shall thy fervent jealousy
burn like unto a flame?
6 On heathen pour thy fury forth,
that have thee never known,
And on those kingdoms which thy name
have never call’d upon.
7 For these are they who Jacob have
And they his habitation
have caused waste to lie.
8 Against us mind not former sins;
thy tender mercies show;
Let them prevent us speedily,
for we’re brought very low.
9 For thy name’s glory help us, Lord,
who hast our Saviour been:
Deliver us; for thy name’s sake,
O purge away our sin.
10 Why say the heathen, Where’s their God?
let him to them be known;
When those who shed thy servants’ blood
are in our sight o’erthrown.
11 O let the pris’ner’s sighs ascend
before thy sight on high;
Preserve those in thy mighty pow’r
that are design’d to die.
12 And to our neighbours’ bosom cause
it sev’n-fold render’d be,
Ev’n the reproach wherewith they have,
O Lord, reproached thee.
13 So we thy folk, and pasture-sheep,
shall give thee thanks always;
And unto generations all
we will shew forth thy praise.