Psalm 88

Abraham Coles

3 For, oh, my soul is full of fear,
And my life draws to Sheol near:
4 I'm counted with th'already dead.
And all my manly strength is fled.

5 Cast off, I with the dead remain,
Forsaken, like the buried slain,
Whom Thou Thyself rememberest not,
From Thee cut off and doomed to rot.

6 Thou hast in lowest pit me hurled,
Th'abysses of the underworld;
7 Thy wrath lies heavy on my soul,
Great waves of sorrow o'er me roll.

8 Thou my acquaintance hast estranged,
And hast their love to loathing changed;
Shut up, I can go forth no more,
9 Mine eye decays through weeping sore.

I Thee invoke, Lord, every day;
I stretch forth wearied hands and pray:
10 Wilt Thou show wonders to the dead,
Shall shades arise Thy praise to spread?

11 Shall any in the grave rehearse
Thy loving kindnesses in verse?
Or any in Abaddon bless
And celebrate Thy faithfulness?

12 Any in that lone darksome land
Recite the wonders of Thy hand? —
Land of forgetfulness and night
Where reaches not one ray of light.

13 To Thee I come with tears and cries;
At early morn my prayer shall rise —
14 Why cast me off, O God of grace?
Why dost Thou hide Thy lovely Face?

15 I long have drawn uncertain breath,
A ready candidate for death:
Have borne Thy terrors and still bear,
A wretched victim of despair.

16 Thine indignations like a sea,
Loud roaring, have passed over me:
17 Thy terrors have made me a prey,
Like waters compassed me all day.

18 Of lover and of friend bereft.
Darkness to me alone is left —
My path is lost. Great Shepherd, say,
Shall I still wander from Thy way?