Zion mourns in fear and ang­uish,
Zion, ci­ty of our God.
Ah, she says, “how sore I lang­uish,
Bowed be­neath the chast­en­ing rod!
For my God for­sook me quite
And for­got my sor­ry plight
Mid these trou­bles now dis­tress­ing,
Countless woes my soul op­press­ing.

Once, she mourns, He pro­mised plain­ly
That His help should e’er be near;
Yet I now must seek Him vain­ly
In my days of woe and fear.
Will His an­ger ne­ver cease?
Will He not re­new His peace?
Will He not show forth com­pass­ion
And again for­give trans­gress­ion?

Zion, sure­ly I do love thee,
Thus to her the Sav­ior saith,
“Tho’ with ma­ny woes I prove thee
And thy soul is sad to death.
For My troth is pledged to thee;
Zion, thou art dear to Me.
Deep with­in My heart I’ve set thee,
That I ne­ver can for­get thee.

“Let not Sa­tan make thee cra­ven;
He can threat­en but not harm.
On My hands thy name is grav­en,
And thy shield is My strong arm.
How, then, could it ev­er be
I should not re­mem­ber thee,
Fail to build thy walls, My ci­ty,
And look down on thee with pi­ty?

Ever shall Mine eyes be­hold thee;
On My bo­som thou art laid.
Ever shall My love en­fold thee;
Never shalt thou lack Mine aid.
Neither Sa­tan, war, nor stress
Then shall mar thy hap­pi­ness:
With this bless­èd con­so­la­tion
Be thou firm in tri­bu­la­tion.