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Dost thou unto the dead declare
thy wondrous works of fame?
Shall dead to life again repair,
and praise thee for the same.
Or shall thy loving kindness, Lord,
be show-ed in the grave?
Or shall with them that are destroyed
thy truth her honour have?
Shall they that lie in dark full low
see all thy wonders great?
Or there shall they thy justice know,
where men all things forget?
But I, O Lord, to thee alway
do cry and call apace:
My pray'r also ere it be day
shall come before thy face.
Why dost thou, Lord, abhor my soul
in grief that seeketh thee?
And now, O Lord, why dost thou hide
thy face away from me?
I am afflicted, dying still
from youth many a year;
Thy terrors which do work me ill
with troubled mind I bear.
The furies of thy wrathful rage
full sore upon me lie:
Thy terrors they do not assuage,
but press me heavily.
All day they compass me about,
as water at the tide;
And all at once with streams full great
beset me on each side.
Thou settest far from me my friends
and lovers ev'ry one;
Yea, and my old acquaintance all
out of my sight are gone.
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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 88:11-19;
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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 | # 88 |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
