I Trod the Wine Press Alone, and Trampled Them in My Wrath

I have trodden the wine press alone. I trod them in my anger and trampled them in my wrath. Their life blood is sprinkled upon my garments, and i have stained all my clothing. For the day of vengeance was in my heart and my year of redemption has come. So my own arm brought me victory, and my wrath upheld me. O lord, why do you make us err from your ways and harden our hearts so that we fear you, not return? The mountains quaked at your presence; no eye has seen a god besides you who works for those who wait for him. You meet him that joyfully works righteousness. We are the clay and you are