Scripture Verse

Hear my prayer, O Lord, and let my cry come unto Thee. Hide not Thy face from me in the day when I am in trouble; incline Thine ear unto me: in the day when I call answer me speedily. Psalm 102:1–2


Isaac Watts

Words: Is­aac Watts, The Psalms of Da­vid 1719. A pray­er of the af­flict­ed.

Music: St. Mat­thew Will­iam Croft, 1708 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tune:

William Croft


Hear me, O God, nor hide Thy face;
But answer, lest I die;
Hast Thou not built a throne of grace
To hear when sinners cry?

My days are wasted like the smoke
Dissolving in the air;
My strength is dried, my heart is broke,
And sinking in des­pair.

My spirits flag like wi­ther­ing grass
Burnt with excessive heat;
In secret groans my min­utes pass,
And I forget to eat.

As on some lonely build­ing’s top
The sparrow tells her moan,
Far from the tents of joy and hope
I sit and grieve alone.

My soul is like a wild­er­ness
Where beasts of mid­night howl;
There the sad raven finds her place
And there the screaming owl.

Dark, dis­mal thoughts, and bod­ing fears,
Dwell in my trou­bled breast;
While sharp re­proach­es wound my ears,
Nor give my spir­it rest.

My cup is min­gled with my woes,
And tears are my re­past;
My daily bread like ash­es grows
Unpleasant to my taste.

Sense can af­ford no real joy
To souls that feel Thy frown;
Lord, ’twas Thy hand ad­vanced me high
Thy hand hath cast me down.

My looks like wi­thered leaves ap­pear;
And life’s de­clin­ing light
Grows faint as ev­en­ing sha­dows are,
That van­ish into night.

But Thou for ever art the same,
O my eter­nal God;
Ages to come shall know Thy name,
And spread Thy works abroad.

Thou wilt arise and show Thy face,
Nor will my Lord de­lay
Beyond th’ap­point­ed hour of grace,
That long-ex­pect­ed day.

He hears His saints, He knows their cry,
And by mys­te­ri­ous ways
Redeems the pri­son­ers doomed to die,
And fills their tongues with praise.