Metrical 'Old Version' (John Hopkins)
English text
Like as the hart doth pant and bray,
The well-springs to obtain;
So doth my soul desire alway
With thee, Lord, to remain.
My soul doth thirst, and would draw near
The living God of might;
Oh, when shall I come and appear
In presence of his sight?
The tears all times are my repast,
Which from my eyes do slide;
Whilst wicked men cry out so fast,
Where now is God thy guide?
Alas, what grief is it to think
The freedom once I had!
Therefore my soul, as at pit's brink,
Most heavy is and sad.
For I did march in good array,
With joyful company,
Unto the temple was our way,
To praise the Lord most high.
My soul, why art thou sad always,
And frett'st thus in my breast?
Trust still in God, for him to praise
I hold it ever best.
By him I succour have at need
Against all pain and grief;
He is my God, who with all speed
Doth haste to send relief.
My soul is vexed in me, and
Therefore, O Lord, I will
Remember thee, from Jordan's land,
And Hermon's little hill.
The Second Part
One grief another in doth call,
As clouds burst out their voice;
The floods of evil that do fall,
Run over me with noise.
Yet I by day felt his goodness
And help at all assays:
Likewise at night I did not cease
The living God to praise.
I am persuaded thus to say
To him with reverence,
O Lord, thou art my guide and stay,
My rock and sure defence.
Why do I then in pensiveness,
Hanging the head, thus walk,
While that my enemies oppress
And vex me with their talk?
For why? they pierce my inward parts
With pains to be abhorr'd,
When they cry out with stubborn hearts,
Where now is God thy Lord?
So soon, my soul, why dost thou faint,
With pain and grief oppress'd?
Why do sad thoughts without restraint,
Thus rage within my breast?
Trust in the Lord thy God always,
And thou the time shalt see,
To give him thanks with laud and praise,
For health restor'd to thee.
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Metrical 'New Version' (Tate & Brady)
English text
As pants the hart for cooling streams,
When heated in the chase;
So longs my soul, O God, for thee,
And thy refreshing grace.
For thee, my God, the living God,
My thirsty soul doth pine;
O when shall I behold thy face,
Thou Majesty divine!
Tears are my constant food, while thus
Insulting foes upbraid:
Deluded wretch! Where's now thy God?
And where his promis'd aid?
I sigh when'er my musing thoughts
Those happy days present,
When I with troops of pious friends
Thy temple did frequent:
When I advanc'd with songs of praise
My solemn vows to pay,
And led the joyful sacred throng,
That kept the festal day.
Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Trust God, who will employ
His aid for thee, and change these sighs
To thankful hymns of joy.
My soul's cast down, O God, but thinks
On thee and Sion still;
From Jordan's bank, from Hermon's heights,
And Mizar's humbler hill.
One trouble calls another on,
And gath'ring o'er my head,
Fall spouting down, till round my soul
A roaring sea is spread.
But when thy presence, Lord of life,
Has once dispell'd this storm,
To thee I'll midnight anthems sing,
And all my vows perform.
God of my strength, how long shall I,
Like one forgotten, mourn?
Forlorn, forsaken, and expos'd
To my oppressor's scorn?
My heart is pierc'd, as with a sword,
Whilst thus my foes upbraid,
Vain boaster, where is now thy God?
And where his promis'd aid?
Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Hope still, and thou shalt sing
The praise of him who is thy God,
Thy health's eternal spring.
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Metrical Paraphrase by Isaac Watts, 1719
English text
PART 1 (C.M.)
With earnest longings of the mind,
My God, to thee I look;
So pants the hunted hart to find
And taste the cooling brook.
When shall I see thy courts of grace,
And meet my God again?
So long an absence from thy face
My heart endures with pain.
Temptations vex my weary soul,
And tears are my repast;
The foe insults without control,
"And where's your God at last?"
'Tis with a mournful pleasure now
I think on ancient days;
Then to thy house did numbers go,
And all our work was praise.
But why, my soul, sunk down so far
Beneath this heavy load?
Why do my thoughts indulge despair,
And sin against my God?
Hope in the Lord, whose mighty hand
Can all thy woes remove,
For I shall yet before him stand,
And sing restoring love.
PART 2 (L.M.)
My spirit sinks within me, Lord,
But I will call thy name to mind,
And times of past distress record,
When I have found my God was kind.
Huge troubles with tumultuous noise
Swell like a sea, and round me spread;
Thy water-spouts drown all my joys,
And rising waves roll o'er my head.
Yet will the Lord command his love,
When I address his throne by day,
Nor in the night his grace remove;
The night shall hear me sing and pray.
I'll cast myself before his feet,
And say, "My God, my heav'nly rock,
Why doth thy love so long forget
The soul that groans beneath thy stroke?"
I'll chide my heart that sinks so low,
Why should my soul indulge her grief?
Hope in the Lord, and praise him too;
He is my rest, my sure relief.
Thy light and truth shall guide me still,
Thy word shall my best thoughts employ,
And lead me to thine heav'nly hill,
My God, my most exceeding joy.
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