Blest is he who cries to Heav­en
In the dark and ev­il day,
Whose trans­gress­ions are for­giv­en
And whose sins are washed away;
Blest, when God to him im­put­eth
Not ini­qui­ty nor sin,
And no hid­den guile pol­lut­eth
Spirit, heart, and soul with­in.

Long I kept in si­lence groan­ing,
While my bones waxed weak and old;
Long my heart with grief was moan­ing
And to Thee, O God, was cold.
Day and night Thy hand op­pressed me,
Moisture turned to sum­mer-drought,
My trans­gress­ions sore dis­tressed me,
While in vain I com­fort sought.

When, from Thee no long­er hid­ing,
I con­fessed my sin to Thee,
With my heart in Thee con­fid­ing,
Thou in love for­gav­est me.
Now my heart is filled with glad­ness,
Thou sur­round­est me with grace;
Songs of joy dis­pel my sad­ness,
For Thou art my hid­ing-place.

Lord, in­struct and teach me ev­er
In the way that I should go;
With Thy coun­sel me de­liv­er
From the cun­ning of the foe.
For Thy grace and mer­cy ten­der,
For Thy ta­ble and Thy Word,
Thanks to Heav­en I will ren­der
And for­ev­er praise Thee, Lord.