1 When we are raised from deep distress,
Our God deserves a song;
We take the pattern of our praise
From Hezekiah’s tongue.

2 The gates of the devouring grave
Are opened wide in vain,
If He that holds the keys of death
Commands them fast again.

3 Pains of the flesh are wont t’abuse
Our minds with slavish fears:
Our days are past, and we shall lose
The remnant of our years.

4 We chatter with a swallow’s voice,
Or like a dove we mourn,
With bitterness instead of joys,
Afflicted and forlorn.

5 Jehovah speaks the healing word,
And no disease withstands;
See fevers, plagues obey the Lord,
And fly at His commands.

6 If half the strings of life should break,
He can our frame restore;
He casts our sins behind His back,
And they are found no more.