1 OF old, O God, thine own right hand
A pleasant vine did plant and train;
Above the hills, o er all the land,
It sought the sun, and drank the rain.
2 Its boughs like goodly cedars spread,
Forth to the river went the root;
Perennial verdure crowned its head,
It bore in every season fruit.
3 That vine is desolate and torn,
Its shoots low in the dust are laid;
High o'er its branches springs the thorn,
The wild boar revels in its shade.
4 Lord God of hosts, thine ear incline,
Change into songs thy people's fears;
Return, and visit this thy vine,
Revive thy work amidst the years.
5 The plenteous and continual dew
Of thy rich blessing here descend;
So shall thy vine its leaf renew,
Till o'er the earth its branches bend.
6 Then shall it flourish wide and fair,
While realms beneath its shadow rest;
The morning and the evening star
Shall mark its bounds from east to west.
7 So shall thine enemies be dumb,
Thy banished ones no more enslaved,
The fulness of the Gentiles come,
And Israel's youngest born be saved.