But, thou, art flung out from thy grave, Like a scion detested, Beshrouded with slain, the pierced of the sword, Like a carcase trod underfoot:

A winepress, have I trodden, alone, And of the peoples, there was no man with me. So I trod them down in mine anger, And trampled upon then, in mine indignation, - And their life-blood besprinkled my garments, And all mine apparel, I defiled;

Then trod I down peoples in mine anger, And make them drunk with mine indignation, And brought down to the earth their life-blood.

For a short time only, did thy holy people hold possession, - Our adversaries, trod down thy sanctuary!