University of Virginia Library

As thirsty Harts pant for the cooling Flood,
So pants my longing Soul for thee, my God.
I pant, I languish, and I thirst for thee;
Oh, when shall I thy living Lustre see!
When will thy Presence wonted Joy impart,
Fill my desiring Soul, and cheer my Heart?
In vain the Sun displays his radiant Light,
In vain to Day succeeds the Starry Night;
For each to me alike one Gloom appears,
And both are witness to my falling Tears;
Careless of Ease, and negligent of Rest,
Devouring Grief has my whole Soul possess'd;
While, to encrease my Pain, th'insulting Foe,
With Joy malignant, mocks my rising Woe;
I hear, I feel, the deeply wounding Scorn,
And with incessant Anguish inly mourn,
Whilst thus the Scoffers tauntingly upbraid;
Where is thy God? Where now, his promis'd Aid?
For I had gone with the devoted Throng,
And in his Temple join'd the sacred Song,
With those who joyful tune the sprightly Lay,
And to his Honour dedicate the Day.
Why, O my Soul! art thou so much distress'd?
Oh! why with such a Weight of Sorrow press'd?
In the Most High thy Confidence repose,
Almighty Pow'r shall crush thy fiercest Foes;
Heed not the Fools who scoffingly upbraid,
I yet shall thank him for his promis'd Aid;
Look down, my God, behold my wasting Grief,
From thee my suff'ring Soul implores Relief.
Where'er I am, I still invoke thy Name,
From Hermon's Mount, by Jordan's limpid Stream:
Oh, with one gracious Smile my Grief asswage,
Who long have borne the cruel Tyrant's Rage,
While the loud Torrents rushing force their Way,
Wave after Wave in terrible Array!
Yet sure my God will give his kind Command,
And drive far hence the vile insulting Band;
Then shall his Praises dwell upon my Tongue,
And ev'ry Night shall hear the grateful Song:
To him each Day shall rise the constant Pray'r,
And constant Praise implore perpetual Care.

But why, my God, my Strength, am I forgot?
Why left to gloomy Care and pensive Thought?
Still thou art absent, still I daily mourn,
Th'insulting Enemies repeated Scorn.

Not the disjointing Sword or venom'd Dart,
Can, like thy Absence, penetrate my Heart:
While I am doom'd to feel the Scorner's Rod,
Who flouting cry, where now thy boasted God?
No hostile Weapon can so deeply wound,
As this afflicting Thought, this piercing Sound:
But why, my Soul, art thou so much distress'd?
Oh! why with such a Weight of Sorrow press'd?
Still in thy God full Confidence repose,
Almighty Pow'r shall crush thy strongest Foes,
His Favour yet thou shalt with Joy proclaim,
And all thy Pow'rs uniting, praise his Name.