8
You brought a vine out of Egypt. You drove out the nations, and planted it.
9
You cleared the ground for it. It took deep root, and filled the land.
10
The mountains were covered with its shadow. Its boughs were like God`s cedars.
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It sent out its branches to the sea, Its shoots to the River.
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Why have you broken down its walls, So that all those who pass by the way pluck it?
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The boar out of the wood ravages it. The wild animals of the field feed on it.
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Turn again, we beg you, God of hosts. Look down from heaven, and see, and visit this vine,
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The stock which your right hand planted, The branch that you made strong for yourself.
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It is burned with fire. It is cut down. They perish at your rebuke.