Oft From My Youth They Me Distressed
Oft from my youth they me distress’d,
may Isr’el say with joy;
Oft from my youth, they me distress’d,
but never could destroy.
My back as ploughers, oft they plough’d,
and furrows long did make;
But the just LORD, the wicked’s cords
did all asunder break.
All those who Zion hate shall be
confounded and o’erthrown;
Shall be as grass on houses tops,
which fades before ’tis grown.
Whereof enough to fill his hand
the mower cannot find;
Much less can he his bosom fill,
whose work is sheaves to bind.
Nor those who pass by say–‘On you
‘JEHOVAH’s blessing rest!’
Nor these reply – ‘In the LORD’s name
‘we wifh you to be bless’d!’