PSALM XLII.

George Burgess

Tears have fed me, day and night,
While, beneath the mocking tone,
\"Where is now thy God of might?\"
Pours my heart its grief alone:
For, amidst the joyous throng,
Once within thy courts I trod.
With the voice of festal song,
With the people of my God.

Wherefore bow'st thou down, my soul,
Sighing with thy load of care?
Why within my bosom roll
Threatening waves of dark despair?
Trust in God, and wait his hour,
Though it linger yet a while;
I shall praise his faithful pow'r,
Praise my God's preserving smile.

Lord, for thee my soul has sigh'd,
Looking tow'rds thy holy place,
Here, from Jordan's distant tide,
Here, from Hermon's humbler base:
Deep to deep is calling hoarse;
Far the torrent troubles spread;
And their billows' gather'd force
Bursts above my sinking head.

Yet the Lord shall shine by day,
Yet by night shall fill my strain:
To the Lord, my life, I pray,
To the Lord, my rock, complain;
Why, forgotten, roam I here,
While the shout pursues my flight,
Piercing, like a blade, mine ear,
\"Where is now thy God of might?\"

Wherefore bow'st thou down, my soul,
Sighing with thy load of care?
Why within my bosom roll
Threat'ning waves of dark despair?
Trust in God, and wait his hour,
Though it linger yet a while;
I shall praise his faithful pow'r,
Praise my God's preserving smile.