My spi­rit sinks with­in me, Lord,
But I will call Thy name to mind,
And times of past dis­tress record,
When I have found my God was kind.

Huge troubles with tu­mul­tu­ous noise
Swell like a sea, and round me spread;
Thy wa­ter-spouts drown all my joys,
And ris­ing waves roll o’er my head.

Yet will the Lord com­mand His love,
When I ad­dress His throne by day,
Nor in the night His grace re­move;
The night shall hear me sing and pray.

I’ll cast my­self be­fore His feet,
And say, My God, my heav’n­ly rock,
Why doth Thy love so long for­get
The soul that groans be­neath Thy stroke?

I’ll chide my heart that sinks so low,
Why should my soul in­dulge her grief?
Hope in the Lord, and praise Him, too;
He is my rest, my sure re­lief.

Thy light and truth shall guide me still,
Thy Word shall my best thoughts em­ploy,
And lead me to Thine heav’n­ly hill,
My God, my most ex­ceed­ing joy.