1 O God of my salvation, hear
My nightly groan, my daily pray'r,
That still employ my wasting breath;
My soul, declining to the grave,
Implores thy sov'reign Pow'r to save
From dark despair and lasting death.

2 Thy wrath lies heavy on my soul,
And waves of sorrows o'er me roll,
While dust and silence spread the gloom:
My friends, belov'd in happier days,
The dear companions of my ways,
Descend around me to the tomb.

3 As, lost in lonely grief, I tread
The mournful mansions of the dead,
Or to some throng'd assembly go;
Thro' all alike I rove alone,
While, here forgot and there unknown,
The change renews my piercing woe.

4 And why will God neglect my call?
Or who shall profit by my fall,
When life departs and love expires?
Can dust and darkness praise the Lord?
Or wake, or brighten at his word,
And tune the harp with heav'nly quires?

5 Yet, thro' each melancholy day,
I've pray'd to thee, and still will pray,
Imploring still thy kind return—
But oh! my friends, my comfort's fled,
And all my kindred of the dead
Recal my wand'ring thoughts to mourn.