As pants the wea­ried hart for cool­ing springs,
That sinks ex­haust­ed in the sum­mer’s chase,
So pants my soul for Thee, great King of kings,
So thirsts to reach Thy sac­red dwell­ing place.

Why throb, my heart? Why sink, my sad­den­ing soul?
Why droop to earth, with va­ri­ous woes op­pressed?
My years shall yet in bliss­ful cir­cles roll,
And peace be yet an in­mate of this breast.

Lord, Thy sure mer­cies, ev­er in my sight,
My heart shall glad­den through the te­di­ous day,
And midst the dark and gloomy shades of night,
To Thee, my God, I’ll tune the grate­ful lay.

Why faint, my soul? Why doubt Je­ho­vah’s aid?
Thy God, the God of mer­cy, still shall prove;
Within His courts thy thanks shall yet be paid:
Unquestioned be His faith­ful­ness and love.