To God I cried with mourn­ful voice,
I sought His gra­cious ear,
In the sad day when trou­bles rose,
And filled the night with fear.

Sad were my days, and dark my nights,
My soul re­fused re­lief;
I thought on God the just and wise,
But thoughts in­creased my grief.

Still I com­plained, and still op­pressed
My heart be­gan to break;
My God, Thy wrath for­bade my rest,
And kept my eyes awake.

My ov­er­whelm­ing sor­rows grew,
Till I could speak no more;
Then I with­in my­self with­drew,
And called Thy judg­ments o’er.

I called back years and an­cient times
When I be­held Thy face;
My spir­it searched for sec­ret crimes
That might with­hold Thy grace.

I called Thy mer­cies to my mind
Which I en­joyed be­fore;
And will the Lord no more be kind?
His face ap­pear no more?

Will He for ev­er cast me off?
His pro­mise ev­er fail?
Has He for­got His ten­der love?
Shall an­ger still pre­vail?

But I for­bid this hope­less thought;
This dark, des­pair­ing frame,
Remembering what Thy hand hath wrought;
Thy hand is still the same.

I’ll think again of all Thy ways,
And talk Thy won­ders o’er;
Thy won­ders of re­co­ver­ing grace,
When flesh could hope no more.

Grace dwells with jus­tice on the throne;
And men that love Thy Word
Have in Thy sanc­tu­ary known
The coun­sels of the Lord.