In time of tri­bu­la­tion,
Hear, Lord, my fee­ble cries;
With hum­ble sup­pli­ca­tion
To Thee my spir­it flies;
My heart with grief is break­ing,
Scarce can my voice com­plain;
Mine eyes with tears kept wak­ing,
Still watch and weep in vain.

The days of old, in vi­sion,
Bring ban­ished bliss to view;
The years of lost fru­ition,
Their joys in pangs re­new;
Remembered songs of glad­ness,
Through nights lone si­lence brought,
Strike notes of deep­er sad­ness,
And stir de­spond­ing thought.

Hath God cast off for­ev­er?
Can time His truth im­pair?
His ten­der mercy ne­ver
Shall I pre­sume to share?
Hath He His lov­ing kind­ness
Shut up in end­less wrath?
No; this is mine own blind­ness,
That can­not see His path.

I call to re­col­lect­ion
The years of His right hand;
And, strong in His pro­tect­ion,
Again through faith I stand;
Thy deeds, O Lord, are won­drous;
Holy are all Thy ways;
The sec­ret place of thun­der
Shall ut­ter forth Thy praise.

Thee, with the tribes as­sem­bled,
O God, the bil­lows saw;
They saw Thee, and they trem­bled,
Turned, and stood still with awe;
The clouds shot hail and light­ning;
The earth reeled to and fro;
Thy fie­ry pil­lar bright­ened
The gulf of gloom be­low.

Thy way is in great wa­ters,
Thy foot­steps are not known;
Let Ad­am’s sons and daugh­ters
Confide in Thee alone:
Through the wild sea Thou lead­est
Thy chos­en flock of yore;
Still on the waves Thou tread­est,
And Thy re­deemed pass o’er.