Psalm 79

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.