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.