1

Like as the hart for water-brooks

in thirst doth pant and bray;

So pants my longing soul, O God,

that come to thee I may.

2

My soul for God, the living God,

doth thirst: when shall I near

Unto thy countenance approach,

and in God’s sight appear?

3

My tears have unto me been meat,

both in the night and day,

While unto me continually,

Where is thy God? they say.

4

My soul is poured out in me,

when this I think upon;

Because that with the multitude

I heretofore had gone:

With them into God’s house I went,

with voice of joy and praise;

Yea, with the multitude that kept

the solemn holy days.

5

O why art thou cast down, my soul?

why in me so dismay’d?

Trust God, for I shall praise him yet,

his count’nance is mine aid.

6

My God, my soul’s cast down in me;

thee therefore mind I will

From Jordan’s land, the Hermonites,

and ev’n from Mizar hill.

7

At the noise of thy water-spouts

deep unto deep doth call;

Thy breaking waves pass over me,

yea, and thy billows all.

8

His loving-kindness yet the Lord

command will in the day,

His song’s with me by night; to God,

by whom I live, I’ll pray:

9

And I will say to God my rock,

Why me forgett’st thou so?

Why, for my foes’ oppression,

thus mourning do I go?

10

’Tis as a sword within my bones,

when my foes me upbraid;

Ev’n when by them, Where is thy God?

’tis daily to me said.

11

O why art thou cast down, my soul?

why, thus with grief opprest,

Art thou disquieted in me?

in God still hope and rest:

For yet I know I shall him praise,

who graciously to me

The health is of my countenance,

yea, mine own God is he.