I wait­ed pa­tient for the Lord,
He bowed to hear my cry;
He saw me rest­ing on His Word,
And brought sal­va­tion nigh.

He raised me from a hor­rid pit,
Where mourn­ing long I lay,
And from my bonds re­leased my feet,
Deep bonds of mi­ry clay.

Firm on a rock He made me stand,
And taught my cheer­ful tongue
To praise the won­ders of His hand,
In a new thank­ful song.

I’ll spread His works of grace abroad;
The saints with joy shall hear,
And sin­ners learn to make my God
Their on­ly hope and fear.

How ma­ny are Thy thoughts of love!
Thy mer­cies, Lord, how great!
We have not words nor hours enough
Their num­bers to re­peat.

When I’m af­flict­ed, poor, and low,
And light and peace de­part,
My God be­holds my hea­vy woe,
And bears me on His heart.