1 As pants the Hart for cooling streams,
when heated in the Chace;
So longs my Soul, O God, for Thee,
and thy refreshing Grace.
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,
and kept the Festal Day.
5 Why restless, why cast down, my Soul?
trust God; and He'll 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 Missar's humbler Hill.
7 One Trouble calls another on;
and, bursting 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.