As the hart, with ea­ger looks,
Panteth for the wa­ter-brooks,
So my soul, athirst for Thee,
Pants the liv­ing God to see;
When, O when, with fi­li­al fear,
Lord, shall I to Thee draw near?

Tears my food by night, by day,
Grief con­sumes my strength away;
While his craft the tempt­er plies,
Where is now thy God? he cries;
This would sink me to des­pair,
But I pour soul in pray­er.

For in ha­ppi­er times I went,
Where the mul­ti­tudes fre­quent;
I, with them, was wont to bring
Homage to Thy courts, my King:
I, with them, was wont to raise
Festal hymns on ho­ly days.

Why art thou cast down, my soul?
God, thy God, shall make thee whole;
Why art thou dis­qui­et­ed?
God shall lift thy fall­en head;
And His coun­te­nance be­nign
Be the sav­ing health of thine.