PSAL CXXIX. A Song of Degrees

NOw from my youth may Israel say oft have they me assail'd. They me assail'd oft from my youth, yet 'gainst me nought prevail'd. Then ploughers plough'd upon my back their furrows long they drew. The righteous Lord the wickeds cords did all asunder hew.

Let all that Sion hate be sham'd, at once turn'd back also. As grass on houses tops be they, that fades ere up it grow. Whereof enough to fill his hand, the mower doth not find: Nor therewith he his bosome fills, that up the sheaves doth bind.

Nor do they say that pass by them Gods blessing on you be. Unto you in Jehovahs Name a blessing wish do we.