1 O what shall I do to retrieve,
The love for a season bestowe':
'Tis better to die than to live
Exil'd from the presence of GOD:
With sorrow distracted and doubt,
With palpable horror opprest,
The city I wander about,
And seek my repose in his breast.

2 Ye watchmen of Israel, declare
If ye my beloved have seen,
And point to that heav'nly fair,
Surpassing the children of men:
My Lover and LORD from above,
Who only can quiet my pain,
Whom only I languish to love,
O where shall I find him again?

3 The joy and desire of mine eyes,
The end of my sorrow and woe;
My hope, and my heav'nly prize,
My height of ambition below:
Once more if he shew me his face,
He never again shall depart,
Detain'd in my closest embrace,
Conceal'd in the depth of my heart.