Psalm 13

Words: Isaac Watts

Note: there is also a Common Metre version on this page

   Pleading with God under desertion.
   1  How long, O Lord, shall I complain,
      Like one that seeks his God in vain?
      Canst thou thy face for ever hide,
      And I still pray, and be denied?
   2  Shall I for ever be forgot,
      As one whom thou regardest not?
      Still shall my soul thine absence mourn,
      And still despair of thy return?
   3  How long shall my poor troubled breast
      Be with these anxious thoughts oppressed?
      And Satan, my malicious foe,
      Rejoice to see me sunk so low?
   4  Hear, Lord, and grant me quick relief,
      Before my death conclude my grief:
      If thou withhold thy heav'nly light,
      I sleep in everlasting night.
   5  How will the powers of darkness boast,
      If but one praying soul be lost!
      But I have trusted in thy grace,
      And shall again behold thy face.
   6  Whate'er my fears or foes suggest,
      Thou art my hope, my joy, my rest;
      My heart shall feel thy love, and raise
      My cheerful voice to songs of praise.
Common Metre
   Complaint under temptations of the devil.
   1  How long wilt thou conceal thy face?
         O God, how long delay?
      When shall I feel those heav'nly rays
         That chase my fears away?
   2  How long shall my poor lab'ring soul
         Wrestle and toil in vain?
      Thy word can all my foes control,
         And ease my raging pain.
   3  See how the prince of darkness tries
         All his malicious arts;
      He spreads a mist around my eyes,
         And throws his fiery darts.
   4  Be thou my sun, and thou my shield,
         My soul in safety keep;
      Make haste, before mine eyes are sealed
         In death's eternal sleep.
   5  How would the tempter boast aloud
         If I become his prey!
      Behold, the sons of hell grow proud
         At thy so long delay.
   6  But they shall fly at thy rebuke,
         And Satan hide his head;
      He knows the terrors of thy look,
         And hears thy voice with dread.
   7  Thou wilt display that sov'reign grace,
         Where all my hopes have hung;
      I shall employ my lips in praise,
         And vict'ry shall be sung.

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Page last modified on: 07/29/2004