Classic Poem

As the frightened, stricken deer
Pants for cooling water-brooks,
So my spirit thirsts for thee,
So to thee, my God, it looks.

Night and day have seen my tears;
I have felt thy chastening rod:
When shall I be nearer thee;
When behold the living God?

O'er departed hours I mourn,
When I joyful sang thy praise
With the grateful, happy throng,
Who love to keep thy holy days.

Why art thou cast down, my soul?
Why disquieted in vain?
Hope in God; for thou shalt yet
Praise his boundless love again.

O, my God, my spirit faints;
Waves of sorrow o'er me roll;
Terror, like Asullen deep,
Overwhelms my sinking soul.

Yet thy loving-kindness, Lord,
Smooths affliction's stormy sea:
In the night I hear thy voice;
Morning lifts my heart to thee.

Why art thou cast down, my soul?
Faint not at the chastening rod!
Hope in Him; He is thy friend;
He 's thy Saviour and thy God.