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PSALM LXXIX.
GOD! the heathen hosts have filledThine heritage with woe;
Thy holy place have they defiled,
And laid Jerusalem low:
Thy servants' lifeless forms are left
To be the vulture's prey,
And one by one those sainted forms
The wild beasts bear away.
To be the vulture's prey,
And one by one those sainted forms
The wild beasts bear away.
Their blood like water flows around
Those walls where once they trod;
No friendly hand to lay their limbs
At rest beneath the sod.
Those walls where once they trod;
No friendly hand to lay their limbs
At rest beneath the sod.
Yea, now from all our neighbouring foes,
We bear reproach and scorn;
But oh! our God, how long, like fire,
Will Thy fierce anger burn?
We bear reproach and scorn;
But oh! our God, how long, like fire,
Will Thy fierce anger burn?
On heathen lands that know not Thee,
Pour down distress and woe,
For they have wasted Jacob's bowers,
And laid his altars low.
Pour down distress and woe,
For they have wasted Jacob's bowers,
And laid his altars low.
