Only Version ❧ CM · 8·6·8·6
A Song of degrees.
1 From my youth, now may Isr’el say, oft have they me assail’d: 2 They me assail’d oft from my youth, yet ‘gainst me nought prevail’d. 3 The plowers plow’d upon my back, their furrows long they drew. 4 The righteous Lord the wicked’s cords he did asunder hew.
5 Let all that Zion hate be sham’d, and turned back together. 6 As grass on house tops, let them be, which ere it’s grown, doth wither: 7 Whereof that which might fill his hand the mower doth not find: nor therewith he his bosom fills that doth the sheaves up bind.
8 Neither do they that pass by say, Jehovah’s blessing be on you: you in Jehovah’s name a blessing wish do we.