1 O God, into thy heritage
the heathen entrance made;
thy holy place they have defiled,
on heaps Jerusalem laid.
2 Thy servants' bodies they have cast
to fowls of heaven for meat;
and of thy saints have thrown the flesh
to beasts of earth to eat.
3 Their blood about Jerusalem
like water they have shed;
and there was none to bury them
when they were slain and dead.
4 Unto our neighbours a reproach
most base become are we,
a scorn and laughing-stock to those
that round about us be.
5 How long, Lord, shall thine anger last?
Wilt thou still keep the same?
And shall thy fervent jealousy
burn like unto a flame?
6 Thy fury on the heathen pour
that have thee never known,
and on those kingdoms which thy name
have never called upon.
7 For these are they who have devoured
thy servant Jacob's race;
and they all waste and desolate
have made his dwelling-place.
8 Against us count not former sins,
thy tender mercies show;
let them prevent us speedily:
we are brought very low.
9 For thy name's glory help us, Lord,
who hast our Saviour been:
deliver us; for thy name's sake
O purge away our sin.
10 Why say the heathen, Where's their God?
Let him to them be known,
when those who shed ty servants' blood
are in our sight o'erthrown.
11 O let the prisoner's sighs ascend
before thy sight on high;
preserve thou in thy mighty power
those that are doomed to die.
12 And to our neighbours' bosom let
it sevenfold rendered be,
even the reproach wherewith they have
O Lord, reproached there.
13 So we, thy folk, and pasture-sheep,
shall give thee thanks always;
and unto generations all
we will show forth thy praise.