Psalm CXXIX

Many a time, may Israel say,
With thankfulness [to God] in truth,
Have wicked men afflicted me,
Even from my [prime and] early youth.

Many a time, even from my youth,
Their [cruel] hands have me assail'd;
But for my wished overthrow
They have not yet [by rage] prevail'd.

The plowers plowing on my back,
Did [long and] bloody furrows make.

But God is just, and me preserv'd,
Their strongest cords he [always] brake.

Let wicked men, who Sion hate,
And [all their] plots confounded be;
Let them with shame be turned back,
And not [their hop'd] successes fee.

Let them be like the rootless grass,
Which grows [a while] on the house-tops,
And quickly withereth away,
Before they reach their [wicked] hopes.

This grass fills not the mower's hand,
The binder finds no [fruitful] sheaves;

Nor God nor man on such curs'd weeds,
A blessing [either] finds or leaves.