Psalm 42.

   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 dismayed?
      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 oppresed,
      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.



 

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