1 Now from my youth may Isra'l say,
Oft have they me assail'd.
2 They me assail'd oft from my youth,
Yet not o'er me prevail'd.
3 The plowers plow'd upon my back,
Their furrows long did make.
4 The righteous Lord the wicked's cords
Did all asunder brake.
5 Let all that Sion hate be sham'd,
At once turn'd back also
6 As grass on houses tops be they,
That fades e'er up it grow.
7 Whereof enough to fill his hand,
The mower doth not find:
Nor therewith he his bosom fills,
That up the sheaves doth bind,
8 Nor do they say that pass by them
God's blessing on you be.
Unto you in Jehovah's name,
A biesing wish do we.