As Pants the Hart for Water Brooks

As pants the hart for wa­ter brooks

So pants my soul

O God

for Thee;

For Thee it thirsts

to Thee it looks

And longs the liv­ing God to see.

Far from Thy sac­red courts

my tears

Have been my food by night and day

While con­stant­ly with bit­ter sneers

Where is thy God? the scoff­ers say.

These things I’ll call to mind and cry

When I shall tread the sac­red way

To Zi­on

prais­ing God on high

With throngs who keep the ho­ly day.

O why art thou cast down

my soul?

And what should so dis­qui­et thee?

Still hope in God

and Him ex­tol

Whose face brings sav­ing health to me.

My God

al­though de­ject­ed now

I think of Thee to check my fear

From Jor­dan’s land

from Her­mon’s brow

And Mi­zar hill

for Thou art near.