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Put me not to rebuke, O Lord,
in thy provokèd ire;
And in thy wrath correct me not,
I humbly thee desire.
Thy arrows do stick fast in me,
thy hand doth press me sore;
And in my flesh no health at all
appeareth any more.
And all this is by reason of
thy wrath that I am in;
Not any rest is in my bones
by reason of my sin.
For lo, my wicked doings, Lord,
above my head are gone;
A greater load than I can bear,
they lie me sore upon.
My wounds do stink, and are corrupt,
and loathsome are to see;
Which all through my own foolishness
doth happen unto me.
And I in careful wise am brought
into such great distress,
That I go wailing all the day
in doleful heaviness.
My loins are filled with sore disease,
my flesh hath no whole part;
I feeble am, and broken sore,
and roar for grief of heart.
Thou know'st, Lord, my desire, my groans
are open in thy sight;
My heart doth pant, my strength doth fail,
my eyes have lost their light.
My lovers and my wonted friends
stand looking on my woe;
My kinsmen they do far away
from me depart also.
They that do seek my life lay snares,
and they that go the way
To do me hurt, speak lies, and think
on mischief all the day.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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1562,1812
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Bible Refs:
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Ps 38:1-10;
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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
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Song #
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| 1812 | # 38 |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
