Lord, I can suf­fer Thy re­bukes,
When Thou with kind­ness dost chas­tise;
But Thy fierce wrath I can­not bear:
O let it not against me rise!

Pity my lang­uish­ing es­tate,
And ease the sor­rows that I feel;
The wounds Thine hea­vy hand hath made,
O let Thy gent­ler touch­es heal!

See how I pass my wea­ry days
In sighs and groans; and when ’tis night
My bed is wa­tered with my tears;
My grief con­sumes and dims my sight.

Look, how the pow­ers of na­ture mourn!
How long, Al­migh­ty God, how long?
When shall Thine hour of grace re­turn?
When shall I make Thy grace my song?

I feel my flesh so near the grave,
My thoughts are tempt­ed to des­pair;
But graves can ne­ver praise the Lord,
For all is dust and si­lence there.

Depart, ye temp­ters, from my soul;
And all des­pair­ing thoughts de­part;
My God, who hears my hum­ble moan,
Will ease my flesh, and cheer my heart.