Psalm 74

Maschil of Asaph.

1        O God, why hast thou cast us off?

                   is it for evermore?

          Against thy pasture-sheep why doth

                   thine anger smoke so sore?

2        O call to thy rememberance

                   thy congregation,

          Which thou hast purchased of old;

                   still think the same upon:

          The rod of thine inheritance,

                   which thou redeemed hast,

          This Sion hill, wherein thou hadst

                   thy dwelling in times past.

3        To these long desolations

                   thy feet lift, do not tarry;

          For all the ills thy foes have done

                   within thy sanctuary.

4        Amidst thy congregations

                   thine enemies do roar:

          Their ensigns they set up for signs

                   of triumph thee before.

5        A man was famous, and was had

                   in estimation,

          According as he lifted up

                   his axe thick trees upon.

6        But all at once with axes now

                   and hammers they go to,

          And down the carved work thereof

                   they break, and quite undo.

7        They fired have thy sanctuary,

                   and have defil'd the same,

          By casting down unto the ground

                   the place where dwelt thy name.

8        Thus said they in their hearts, Let us

                   destroy them out of hand:

          They burnt up all the synagogues

                   of God within the land.

9        Our signs we do not now behold;

                   there is not us among

          A prophet more, nor any one

                   that knows the time how long.

10      How long, Lord, shall the enemy

                   thus in reproach exclaim?

          And shall the adversary thus

                   always blaspheme thy name?

11      Thy hand, ev'n thy right hand of might,

                   why dost thou thus draw back?

          O from thy bosom pluck it out

                   for our deliv'rance sake.

12      For certainly God is my King,

                   ev'n from the times of old,

          Working in midst of all the earth

                   salvation manifold.

13      The sea, by thy great pow'r, to part

                   asunder thou didst make;

          And thou the dragons' heads, O Lord,

                   within the waters brake.

14      The leviathan's head thou brak'st

                   in pieces, and didst give

          Him to be meat unto the folk

                   in wilderness that live.

15      Thou clav'st the fountain and the flood,

                   which did with streams abound:

          Thou dry'dst the mighty waters up

                   unto the very ground.

16      Thine only is the day, O Lord,

                   thine also is the night;

          And thou alone prepared hast

                   the sun and shining light.

17      By thee the borders of the earth

                   were settled ev'rywhere:

          The summer and the winter both

                   by thee created were.

18      That th' enemy reproached hath,

                   O keep it in record;

          And that the foolish people have

                   blasphem'd thy name, O Lord.

19      Unto the multitude do not

                   thy turtle's soul deliver:

          The congregation of thy poor

                   do not forget for ever.

20      Unto thy cov'nant have respect;

                   for earth's dark places be

          Full of the habitations

                   of horrid cruelty.

21      O let not those that be oppress'd

                   return again with shame:

          Let those that poor and needy are

                   give praise unto thy name.

22      Do thou, O God, arise and plead

                   the cause that is thine own:

          Remember how thou art reproach'd

                   still by the foolish one.

23      Do not forget the voice of those

                   that are thine enemies:

          Of those the tumult ever grows

                   that do against thee rise.