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.