OF old, O God, thine own right hand A pleasant vine did plant and train; Above...

OF old, O God, thine own right hand A pleasant vine did plant and train; Above the hills, o er all the land, It sought the sun, and drank the rain.

Its boughs like goodly cedars spread, Forth to the river went the root; Perennial verdure crowned its head, It bore in every season fruit.

That vine is desolate and torn, Its shoots low in the dust are laid; High o'er its branches springs the thorn, The wild boar revels in its shade.

Lord God of hosts, thine ear incline, Change into songs thy people's fears; Return, and visit this thy vine, Revive thy work amidst the years.

The plenteous and continual dew Of thy rich blessing here descend; So shall thy vine its leaf renew, Till o'er the earth its branches bend.

Then shall it flourish wide and fair, While realms beneath its shadow rest; The morning and the evening star Shall mark its bounds from east to west.

So shall thine enemies be dumb, Thy banished ones no more enslaved, The fulness of the Gentiles come, And Israel's youngest born be saved.