My harp un­tuned, and laid aside,
To cheer­ful hours the harp be­longs;
My cru­el foes, in­sult­ing cried,
Come, sing us one of Zi­on’s songs.

Alas! when sin­ners, blind­ly bold,
At Zi­on scoff, and Zi­on’s king;
When zeal de­clines, and love grows cold,
Is this a day for me to sing?

Time was, when­e’er the saints I met,
With joy and praise my bos­om glowed;
But now, like Eli, sad I sit,
And trem­ble for the ark of God.

While thus to grief my soul gave way,
To see the work of God de­cline;
Methought I heard my Sav­ior say,
“Dismiss thy fears, the ark is Mine.

“Though for a time I hide My face,
Rely up­on My love and pow­er;
Still wres­tle at a throne of grace,
And wait for a re­viv­ing hour.

Take down thy long ne­glect­ed harp,
I’ve seen thy tears, and heard thy pray­er;
The win­ter season has been sharp,
But spring shall all its wastes re­pair.

Lord, I ob­ey, my hopes re­vive,
Come join with me, ye saints, and sing;
Our foes in vain against us strive;
For God will help and heal­ing bring.