Words: Isaac Watts
There is also a Long Metre version on this page.
Complaint in sickness.
1 In anger, Lord, rebuke me not; Withdraw the dreadful storm; Nor let thy fury grow so hot Against a feeble worm.
2 My soul's bowed down with heavy cares, My flesh with pain oppressed; My couch is witness to my tears, My tears forbid my rest.
3 Sorrow and pain wear out my days; I waste the night with cries, Counting the minutes as they pass, Till the slow morning rise.
4 Shall I be still tormented more? Mine eye consumed with grief? How long, my God, how long before Thine hand afford relief?
5 He hears when dust and ashes speak, He pities all our groans; He saves us for his mercy's sake, And heals our broken bones.
6 The virtue of his sov'reign word Restores our fainting breath; For silent graves praise not the Lord, Nor is he known in death.
Temptations in sickness overcome.
1 Lord, I can suffer thy rebukes, When thou with kindness dost chastise; But thy fierce wrath I cannot bear: O let it not against me rise.
2 Pity my languishing estate, And ease the sorrows that I feel; The wounds thine heavy hand hath made, O let thy gentler touches heal!
3 See how I pass my weary days In sighs and groans; and when 'tis night, My bed is watered with my tears; My grief consumes, and dims my sight.
4 Look, how the powers of nature mourn! How long, Almighty God, how long? When shall thine hour of grace return? When shall I make thy grace my song?
5 I feel my flesh so near the grave, My thoughts are tempted to despair; But graves can never praise the Lord, For all is dust and silence there.
6 Depart, ye tempters, from my soul; And all despairing thoughts, depart; My God, who hears my humble moan, Will ease my flesh, and cheer my heart.