Persecutors Punished

Verse 1

Up from my youth, may Isr'el say, Have I been nursed in tears; My griefs were constant as the day, And tedious as the years.

Verse 2

Up from my youth I bore the rage Of all the sons of strife; Oft they assailed my riper age, But not destroyed my life.

Verse 3

Their cruel plow had torn my flesh With furrows long and deep; Hourly they vexed my wounds afresh, Nor let my sorrows sleep.

Verse 4

The Lord grew angry on his throne, And, with impartial eye, Measured the mischiefs they had done, Then let his arrows fly.

Verse 5

How was their insolence surprised To hear his thunders roll! And all the foes of Zion seized With horror to the soul!

Verse 6

Thus shall the men that hate the saints Be blasted from the sky; Their glory fades, their courage faints And all their projects die.

Verse 7

What though they flourish tall and fair, They have no root beneath; Their growth shall perish in despair, And lie despised in death.

Verse 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.

Verse 9

It springs and withers on the place; No traveller bestows A word of blessing on the grass, Nor minds it as he goes.