1 Full oft (may Israel say) invet'rate foes,
E'en from our infant-state, have causeless rose;
2 Full oft our peace, our lives, have they assail'd;
But never yet their villain-schemes prevail'd:
3 Oft heavy burthens on our backs they've laid;
And with their barb'rous cruelties dismay'd.
4 But heav'n is ever just--our bonds he broke,
And freed his people from the galling yoke.
5 May sure confusion and vain hopes await
The impious nations that our Sion hate:
6 Wither like grass on lofty roofs, our foes;
Like grass that never to perfection grows;
7 Which, left the pastime of the wanton wind,
The mower scorns, nor will the gleaners bind;
8 Which views the trav'ller with a careless eye,\
Nor craves a blessing, as he passes by.