PSALM XLII.

Tate and Brady

2 For thee, my God, the living God,
My thirsty soul doth pine:
O when shall I behold thy face,
Thou Majesty divine!

3 Tears are my constant food, while thus
Insulting foes upbraid:
Deluded wretch! where's now thy God?
And where his promis'd aid?

4 I sigh whene'er my musing thoughts
Those happy days present,
When I with troops of pious friends
Thy temple did frequent:

When I advanc'd with songs of praise
My solemn vows to pay,
And led the joyful sacred throng,
That kept the festal day.

5 Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Trust God, who will employ
His aid for thee, and change these sighs
To thankful hymns of joy.

6 My soul's cast down, O God, but thinks
On thee and Sion still;
From Jordan's bank, from Hermon's heights,
And Mizar's humbler hill.

7 One trouble calls another on,
And gath'ring o'er my head,
Fall spouting down, till round my soul
A roaring sea is spread.

8 But when thy presence, Lord of life,
Has once dispell'd this storm,
To thee I'll midnight anthems sing,
And all my vows perform.

9 God of my strength, how long shall I,
Like one forgotten, mourn?
Forlorn, forsaken, and expos'd
To my oppressor's scorn?

10 My heart is pierc'd, as with a sword,
Whilst thus my foes upbraid,
Vain boaster, where is now thy God?
And where his promis'd aid?

11 Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Hope still, and thou shalt sing
The praise of him who is thy God,
Thy health's eternal spring.