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.
