1 Up from my youth, may Isra'l say,
Have I been nurs'd in tears;
My griefs were constant as the day,
And tedious as the years.
2 Up from my youth I bore the rage
Of all the sons of strife;
Oft they assail'd my riper age,
But God preserv'd my life.
3 O'er all my frame their cruel dart
Its painful wounds impress'd;
Hourly they vex'd my fainting heart,
Nor let my sorrows rest.
4 The Lord grew angry on his throne,
And with impartial eye,
Measur'd the mischiefs they had done,
Then let his arrows fly.
5 How was their insolence surpris'd,
To hear his thunders roll!
And all the foes of Zion seiz'd
With horror to the soul.
6 Thus shall the men that hate the saints,
Be blasted from the sky;
Their glory fades, their courage faints,
And all their prospects die.
7 [What tho' they flourish tall and fair,
They have no root beneath;
Their growth shall perish in despair,
And lie despis'd in death.
8 So corn that on the house-top stands,
No hope of harvest gives;
The reaper ne'er shall fill his hands,
Nor binder fold the sheaves.]
|First Line:||Up from my youth, may Isra'l say|