Psalm 129

THey from my youth may Israel say,
They from my youth assail'd;
And sorely griev'd me many a day,
But never have prevail'd.
The plowers on my back did plow,
And made their furrows long:
The righteous Lord hath cut in two,
The wickeds cords so strong.
All Sions hatefull enemies stop,
Confound, and overthrow:
Make them like grass on houses top,
Which withereth ere it grow.
Whereof the mower ne'r receives,
So much as hands can gripe:
Nor he that bindeth up the sheaves,
A bosome full grown ripe.
Which never invites the passengers,
At gathering of the same,
To say thus much, God speed you Sirs,
We bless you in his Name.