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Restore us again, O Lord of hosts :
 show us the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.
You brought a vine out of Egypt :
 you drove out the nations, and planted it in.
You cleared the ground before it :
 and it struck root and filled the land.
The hills were covered with its shadow :
 and its boughs were like the boughs of the great cedars.
It stretched out its branches to the sea :
 and its tender shoots to the Great River.
Why then have you broken down its walls :
 so that every passer-by can pluck its fruit?
The wild boar out of the woods roots it up :
 and the locusts from the wild places devour it.
Turn to us again, O Lord of hosts :
 look down from heaven, and see.
Bestow your care upon this vine :
 the stock which your own right hand has planted.