Psalm CII

Lord, hear thy servant's humble prayer,
And let my mournful cry
Ascend, and reach thy gracious ear,
And move thy pitying eye.

O do not hide thy blissful face,
When fears and sorrows rise;
But hear, and let thy sovereign grace
Return with quick supplies.

My days like smoke consume away,
And this poor dying frame
Sinks down to ruin and decay,
Scorch'd with affliction's flame.

My spirit fails, my hopes decline,
Like withering grass they fade;
And while beneath thy stroke I pine,
How tasteless is my bread!

My strength, with oft-repeated groans,
Is wasting fast away,
And leaves this skin, these feeble bones,
To wrinkles and decay.

Like a poor solitary fowl
Which in the desart roves,
Or like the melancholy owl
That nightly haunts the groves;

I spend the watchful night alone,
Slow moves the tiresome shade,
While like the plaintive bird, I moan,
All desolate and sad.

While all the day my cruel foes
In sharp reproaches join,
And more to aggravate my woes,
Against my life combine.

My taste no food with comfort cheers,
'Tis ashes mix'd with woe;
And mingling with my drink, my tears
In briny torrents flow.

What comfort e'er can cheer my taste,
Beneath thy angry frown?
Rais'd by thy smile, I once was blest,
But thou hast cast me down.

I sink with hope's departing ray,
And life expiring fails;
So the faint shadow dies away,
When gloomy night prevails,

But thou, O Lord, shalt still endure,
Thy truth shall ne'er decay;
Thy love unalterably sure,
While ages roll away.

In Sion's cause thou wilt arise,
Thy mercy dawns around;
The time is come, her sorrow flies,
And all her hopes are crown'd.

That Sion, which thy servants love,
Each heart her memory wears;
Their passions o'er her ruins move,
In sadly pleasing tears.

So shall the heathen nations fear
The Lord's exalted name:
Earth's haughty monarchs low revere
Thy majesty supreme.

When Sion's God, with power array'd.
Shall build her frame anew,
Then shall his glory be display'd
To our admiring view.

O let the humble destitute
Ne'er sink in sad despair;
The Lord will hear their mournful suit
And answer all their prayer.

His truth, his mercy, and his power
Shall fill the blest record;
And future ages shall adore
And love and praise the Lord.

From heaven, his high eternal throne,
(O condescending grace!)
The almighty looks with pity down
On earth's low worthless race.

He sees the groaning prisoner's pain,
And brings a kind reprieve;
His hand shall loose the fatal chain,
And bid the victim live:

Live to declare his glorious name,
And spread his praise abroad,
And in his sacred courts proclaim
The mercy of his God,

Assembled there his saints attend,
And songs of praise repeat;
And there united nations bend,
And worship at his feet.

In life's mid-way my strength declin'd,
But 'twas my father's hand;
My shortening days flew swift as wind,
At his supreme command.

I said, to thee my God I pray,
Whose years for ever last;
O take me not so soon away,
Ere half my days are past.

Earth's old foundations thou hast laid;
The heavens, (a glorious frame!)
By thy almighty hand were spread,
And speak their Maker's name.

Their shining wonders all shall fade;
By thy controlling power,
Chang'd like a vesture quite decay'd;
But thou shalt still endure.

Thy bright perfections, all divine,
Eternal as thy days,
Through everlasting ages shine,
With undiminish'd rays.

Thy servant's children still thy care,
Shall own their father's God;
To latest times thy favour share,
And spread thy praise abroad.