In anger, Lord, re­buke me not,
Withdraw the dread­ful storm;
Nor let Thy fu­ry grow so hot
Against a fee­ble worm.

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.

Sorrow and pain wear out my days;
I waste the night with cries,
Counting the min­utes as they pass,
Till the slow morn­ing rise.

Shall I be still tor­ment­ed more?
Mine eye con­sumed with grief?
How long, my God, how long be­fore
Thine hand af­ford re­lief?

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.

The vir­tue of His so­ver­eign Word
Restores our faint­ing breath;
For si­lent graves praise not the Lord,
Nor is He known in death.