Poems (Toke)/Psalm LXXIX
GOD! the heathen hosts have filled Thine heritage with woe;Thy holy place have they defiled, And laid Jerusalem low:
PSALM LXXIX.
GOD! the heathen hosts have filled Thine heritage with woe;Thy holy place have they defiled, And laid Jerusalem low:Thy servants' lifeless forms are left To be the vulture's prey,And one by one those sainted forms The wild beasts bear away.
Their blood like water flows around Those walls where once they trod;No friendly hand to lay their limbs At rest beneath the sod.
Yea, now from all our neighbouring foes, We bear reproach and scorn;But oh! our God, how long, like fire, Will Thy fierce anger burn?
On heathen lands that know not Thee, Pour down distress and woe,For they have wasted Jacob's bowers, And laid his altars low.
But oh! remember not our deeds, Our former sins forgive;Yea, in Thy tender mercy rise, And bid us once more live.
For we are brought to depths of woe, Yet still to Thee we pray;Then for Thy Name's sake help us, Lord, And purge our sins away.
Oh! wherefore should the heathen say, "Where, Jacob, is thy God?"Let Him be known by vengeance now, For all His servants' blood.
And let Thine ear, O Lord, attend The captive's trembling sigh;Stretch forth Thine arm of might, to save The victims doomed to die.
Yea, to our neighbours render now (But sevenfold in degree)The dark reproach, the impious scorn, That They have poured on Thee.
So we Thy people, we Thy sheep, That Thou didst lead so long,Will give Thee thanks, and praise Thy Name, In strains of endless song.
E.
February 9, 1834,