Scripture Verse

My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me? Psalm 22:1


Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

Words: Is­aac Watts, The Psalms of Da­vid 1719. The suf­fer­ings and death of Christ.

Music: Wind­sor Chris­to­pher Tye, 1533. Arranged in Booke of Mus­icke, by Will­iam Da­man, 1591 (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Tye (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),


Why has my God my soul forsook,
Nor will a smile afford?
Thus David once in anguish spoke,
And thus our dying Lord.

Though ’tis Thy chief delight to dwell
Among Thy praising saints,
Yet Thou canst hear a groan as well,
And pity our complaints.

Our fathers trusted in Thy name,
And great deliverance found;
But I’m a worm, despised of men,
And trodden to the ground.

Shaking the head, they pass me by,
And laugh my soul to scorn;
In vain he trusts in God, they cry,
Neglected and forlorn.

But Thou art He who formed my flesh
By Thine al­migh­ty Word;
And since I hung upon the breast,
My hope is in the Lord.

Why will my Fa­ther hide His face,
When foes stand threatening round,
In the dark hour of deep distress,
And not a helper found?

Behold Thy darling left among
The cruel and the proud,
As bulls of Bashan, fierce and strong,
As lions roaring loud.

From earth and hell My sorrows meet
To multiply the smart;
They nail My hands, they pierce My feet,
And try to vex My heart.

Yet if Thy sovereign hand let loose
The rage of earth and hell,
Why will my heav’nly Fa­ther bruise
The Son He loves so well?

My God, if possible it be,
Withhold this bitter cup
But I resign My will to Thee,
And drink the sorrows up.

My heart dissolves with pangs unknown,
In groans I waste my breath;
Thy heavy hand has brought Me down
Low as the dust of death.

Father, I give My Spir­it up,
And trust it in Thy hand;
My dying flesh shall rest in hope,
And rise at Thy command.