Psalm 42

Lord! as the Hart, imbost with heat,
Braies after the coole Rivulet:
So sighs my Soule for thee.
My Soule thirsts for the living God:
When shall I enter his Abode,
And there his Beautie see!

Teares are my Food both night and day;
While, Where's thy God; they daily say.
My Soule in plaints I shed;
When I remember, how in throngs
We fill'd thy House with Praise and Songs;
How I their Dances led.

My Soule, why art thou so deprest!
Why O thus troubled in my brest!
With Griefe so overthrowne!
With constant Hope on God await:
I yet his Name shall celebrate,
For Mercy timely showne.

My fainting Heart within me pants:
My God, consider my Complaints;
My Songs shall praise thee still:
Even from the Vale where Jordan flowes;
Where Hermon his high Fore-head showes,
From Mitsars humble Hill.

Deepes unto Deeps inraged call,
When thy darke Spouts of waters fall,
And dreadfull Tempest raves:
For all thy Flouds upon me burst,
And billowes after billowes thrust
To swallow in their Graves.

But yet by Day the Lord will charge
His ready Mercy to inlarge
My Soule, surpris'd with cares:
He gives my Songs their Argument;
God of my life, I will present
By night to thee my prayers.

And say; My God, my Rocke, O why
Am I forgot, and mourning die,
By Foes reduc'd to Dust!
Their words like weapons pierce my bones;
While still they Echo to my Grones,
Where is the Lord thy Trust?

My Soule, why art thou so deprest!
O why so troubled in my brest!
Sunke underneath thy Load!
With constant Hope on God await:
For I his Name shall celebrate;
My Saviour, and my God.