As Pants the Wearied Hart

As pants the wea­ried hart for cool­ing springs

That sinks ex­haust­ed in the sum­mer’s chase

So pants my soul for Thee

great King of kings

So thirsts to reach Thy sac­red dwell­ing place.

Why throb

my heart? Why sink

my sad­den­ing soul?

Why droop to earth

with va­ri­ous woes op­pressed?

My years shall yet in bliss­ful cir­cles roll

And peace be yet an in­mate of this breast.

Lord

Thy sure mer­cies

ev­er in my sight

My heart shall glad­den through the te­di­ous day

And midst the dark and gloomy shades of night

To Thee

my God

I’ll tune the grate­ful lay.

Why faint

my soul? Why doubt Je­ho­vah’s aid?

Thy God

the God of mer­cy

still shall prove;

Within His courts thy thanks shall yet be paid:

Unquestioned be His faith­ful­ness and love.