Psalm 79

The Gentiles waste thy Canaan, Lord,
With Fire and Sword.
Thy holy Temple they prophane;
With Slaughter staine.
Beneath her ruines Salem grones;
Now nothing but a heape of Stones.

The dead no Funerall pompe attends,
Nor weeping friends:
Their carkases our barbarous Foes
To Beasts expose:
The ravenous Wolves become their tombe
Or else the greedie Vulturs wombe.

With blood of Saints, the Streames grow red,
Like Water shed:
Thy People now a generall
Reproach to all.
The Syrian, and base Edomite
Deride, and in our woes delight.

How long, Lord, shall thy jealous ire
Devoure like Fire!
Thy Anger, in a dreadfull showre
Of vengeance, powre
On those, who know not thy great Name:
And thinke thy Worship but a shame.

For they have laid our Country waste:
Our Cities ras't.
Lord, O remember not the crimes
Of former times!
But for thy tender mercy save
Our soules; now humbled to the grave.

Lord, for the glory of thy Name,
Redeeme from shame.
O purge us, and propitious be!
From thraldome free.
Why should the Heathen thus blaspheme,
And say, Your God is but a Dreame!

Against them let thy Vengeance rise;
Before our eyes:
And for our blood, shed by their guilt,
Let theirs be spilt.
O heare the sighing Prisoners cry!
And save, whom they have doom'd to die.

Our spitefull Neighbours, Lord, deride
Thee, in their pride.
With seven-fold vengeance recompense
Their insolence.
So we, thy flocke, our God will praise;
And to the Stars thy Glory raise.