Words: Brady and Tate, A New Version of the Psalms of David
1 From my youth up, may Israel say they oft have me assailed; 2 Reduced me oft to heavy straits, but never quite prevailed.
3 They oft have plowed my patient back with furrows deep and long; 4 But our just God has broke their chains, and rescued us from wrong.
5 Defeat, confusion, shameful rout be still the doom of those, Their righteous doom, who Zion hate and Zion's God oppose.
6 Like corn upon our houses' tops, untimely let them fade, Which too much heat, and want of root, has blasted in the blade.
7 Which in his arms no reaper takes, but unregarded leaves; No binder thinks it worth his pains to fold it into sheaves.
8 No traveler that passes by vouchsafes a minute's stop, To give it one kind look, or crave Heav'n's blessing on the crop.