Lone amidst the dead and dying,
Lord, my spirit faints for Thee;
Longing, thirsting, drooping, sighing,
When shall I Thy presence see?
O how altered my condition;
Late I led the joyous throng;
Beat my heart with full fruition,
Flowed my lips with grateful song.
Now the storm goes wildly o’er me,
Waves on waves my soul confound:
Naught but boding fears before me,
Naught but threatening foes around.
Save me, save me, O my Father!
To Thy faithful word I cling;
Thence, my soul, thy comfort gather;
Hope, and thou again shalt sing.