A song of ascents.

Much have they oppressed me from my youth, now let Israel say.

Much have they oppressed me from my youth, yet they have not prevailed.

Upon my back the plowers plowed, as they traced their long furrows.

But the just Lord cut me free from the ropes of the yoke of the wicked.

May they be scattered in disgrace, all who hate Zion.

May they be like grass on the rooftops withered in early growth, never to fill the reaper's hands, nor the arms of the binders of sheaves, with none passing by to call out:

"The blessing of the Lord be upon you!
We bless you in the name of the Lord!"

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