O God, the heathen enter'd have
thine heritage; by them
Defiled is thy house: on heaps
they laid Jerusalem.

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.

Their blood about Jerusalem
like water they have shed;
And there was none to bury them
when they were slain and dead.

Unto our neighbours a reproach
most base become are we;
A scorn and laughingstock to them
that round about us be.

How long, Lord, shall thine anger last?
wilt thou still keep the same?
And shall thy fervent jealousy
burn like unto a flame?

On heathen pour thy fury forth,
that have thee never known,
And on those kingdoms which thy name
have never call'd upon.

For these are they who Jacob have
devoured cruelly;
And they his habitation
have caused waste to lie.

Against us mind not former sins;
thy tender mercies show;
Let them prevent us speedily,
for we're brought very low.

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.

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.

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.

And to our neighbours' bosom cause
it sev'n-fold render'd be,
Ev'n the reproach wherewith they have,
O Lord, reproached thee.

So we thy folk, and pasture-sheep,
shall give thee thanks always;
And unto generations all
we will shew forth thy praise.