As pants the hart for cooling streams, when heated in the chase, So longs my soul, O God, for thee and thy refreshing grace. For thee, my god, the living god, my thirsty soul doth pine; O when shall I behold thy face, thou majesty divine? Tears are my constant food, while thus insulting foes upbraid: "Deluded wretch! Where's now thy god? And where his promis'd aid?" Why restless, why cast down, my soul? Trust God, and he'll employ His aid for thee, and change these sighs to thankful hymns of joy. One trouble calls another on and, bursting o'er my head, Falls spouting down, till round my soul a roaring sea is spread. God of my strength, how long shall I, like one forgotten, mourn, Forlorn, forsaken and exposed to my oppressor's scorn? My heart is pierc'd as with a sword, while thus my foes upbraid, "Vain boaster, where is now thy god? And where his promis'd aid?" Why restless, why cast down, my soul? Hope still, and thou shalt sing The praise of him who is thy god, thy health's eternal spring.