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A song for pilgrims going up to Jerusalem. 
 1 Many enemies have attacked from the time I was young. Let everyone in Israel say: 
 2 Many enemies have attacked from the time I was young, but they never defeated me. 
 3 They beat me on my back, leaving long furrows as if it had been ploughed by a farmer. 
 4 But the Lord does what is right: he has cut me free from the ropes of the wicked. 
 5 May everyone who hates Zion be driven back in humiliating defeat. 
 6 May they be like grass that grows on a roof that withers before it can be harvested, 
 7 There's not enough even for a reaper to hold, not enough even for the binder to bind.* The image is of something that's completely useless. 
 8 May passers-by not say to them, “The blessing of the Lord be on you; we bless you in the name of the Lord.”