By A Collection of Hymns

      L.M. Psalm lxxx.
      1 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.

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

      3 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.

      4 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.

      5 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.

      6 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.

      7 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.