2 How soon the faithless Jews forgot
The dreadful wonders God had wrought! 
Then they provoke him to his face,
Nor fear his power, nor trust his grace.

3 The Lord consum’d their years in pain,
And made their travels long and vain;
A tedious march thro’ unknown ways
Wore out their strength and spent their days.

4 Oft when they saw their brethren slain, They mourn’d and sought the Lord again; Call’d him the Rock of their abode, Their high Redeemer and their God.

5 Their prayers and vows before him rise
As flattering words or solemn lies,
While their rebellious tempers prove
False to his covenant and his love.

6 Yet did his sovereign grace forgive
The men who not deserv’d to live;
His anger oft away he turn’d,
Or else with gentle flame it burn’d.

7 He saw their flesh was weak and frail,
He saw temptation still prevail
The God of Abraham lov’d them still,
And led them to his holy hill.

Psalm 80. 
The church’s prayer under affliction;
or, The vineyard of God wasted.

1 Great Shepherd of thine Israel,
Who didst between the cherubs dwell,
And led the tribes, thy chosen sheep,
Safe thro’ the desert and the deep.

2 Thy church is in the desert now, Shine from on high and guide us thro’; Turn us to thee, thy love restore, We shall be sav’d, and sigh no more.

3 Great God, whom heavenly hosts obey,
How long shall we lament and pray,
And wait in vain thy kind return? 
How long shall thy fierce anger burn?

4 Instead of wine and cheerful bread, Thy saints with their own tears are fed; Turn us to thee, thy love restore, We shall be sav’d, and sigh no more.

Pause I.

5 Hast thou not planted with thy hands
A lovely vine in heathen lands? 
Did not thy power defend it round,
And heavenly dews enrich the ground?

6 How did the spreading branches shoot,
And bless the nations with the fruit! 
But now, dear Lord, look down and see
Thy mourning vine, that lovely tree.

7 Why is its beauty thus defac’d? 
Why hast thou laid her fences waste? 
Strangers and foes against her join,
And every beast devours the vine.

8 Return, almighty God, return,
Nor let thy bleeding vineyard mourn;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be sav’d, and sigh no more.

Pause II.

9 Lord, when this vine in Canaan grew
Thou wast its strength and glory too;
Attack’d in vain by all its foes,
Till the fair Branch of Promise rose;

10 Fair Branch, ordain’d of old to shoot From David’s stock, from Jacob’s root; Himself a noble vine, and we The lesser branches of the tree.

11 ’Tis thy own Son, and he shall stand Girt with thy strength at thy right hand; Thy first-born Son, adorn’d and blest With power and grace above the rest.