Classic Poem

Part I.

T HE Gentiles waste Thy Canaan, Lord,
With fire and sword;
Thy holy temple they profane,
With slaughter stain.
Beneath her ruins Salem groans,
Now nothing but a heap of stones.

The dead no funeral pomp attends,
Nor weeping friends;
Their carcases our barbarous foes
To beasts expose;
The rav'nous wolves become their tomb,
Or else the greedy vulture's womb.

With blood of saints the streams grow red,
Like water shed;
Thy people now a general
Reproach to all.
The Syrian and base Edomite
Deride, and in our woes delight.

How long, Lord, shall Thy jealous ire
Devour like fire?
Thy anger, in a dreadful show'r
Of vengeance, pour
On those who know not Thy great Name,
And think Thy worship but a shame.

Part II.

For they have laid our country waste,
Our cities ras'd.
Lord, O remember not the crimes
Of former times,
But for Thy tender mercy save
Our souls, now humbled to the grave!

Lord, for the glory of Thy Name,
Redeem from shame.
O purge us, and propitious be!
From thraldom free.
Why should the heathen thus blaspheme,
And say, Your God is but a dream?

Against them let Thy vengeance rise
Before our eyes;
And for our blood shed by their guilt
Let theirs be spilt.
O hear the sighing pris'ners' cry,
And save whom they have doom'd to die!

Our spiteful neighbours, Lord, deride
Thee in their pride.
With sev'n-fold vengeance recompense
Their insolence.
So we, Thy flock, our God will praise,
And to the stars Thy glory raise.