Hear Me O God, nor Hide Thy Face

Hear me

O God

nor hide Thy face;

But answer

lest I die;

Hast Thou not built a throne of grace

To hear when sin­ners cry?

My days are wast­ed like the smoke

Dissolving in the air;

My strength is dried

my heart is broke

And sink­ing in des­pair.

My spir­its flag like wi­ther­ing grass

Burnt with ex­cess­ive heat;

In sec­ret groans my min­utes pass

And I for­get to eat.

As on some lone­ly build­ing’s top

The spar­row tells her moan

Far from the tents of joy and hope

I sit and grieve alone.

My soul is like a wild­er­ness

Where beasts of mid­night howl;

There the sad rav­en finds her place

And there the scream­ing owl.

Dark

dis­mal thoughts

and bod­ing fears

Dwell in my trou­bled breast;

While sharp re­proach­es wound my ears

Nor give my spir­it rest.

My cup is min­gled with my woes

And tears are my re­past;

My dai­ly bread like ash­es grows

Unpleasant to my taste.

Sense can af­ford no real joy

To souls that feel Thy frown;

Lord

’twas Thy hand ad­vanced me high

Thy hand hath cast me down.

My looks like wi­thered leaves ap­pear;

And life’s de­clin­ing light

Grows faint as ev­en­ing sha­dows are

That van­ish in­to night.

But Thou for ev­er art the same

O my eter­nal God;

Ages to come shall know Thy name

And spread Thy works abroad.

Thou wilt arise and show Thy face

Nor will my Lord de­lay

Beyond th’ap­point­ed hour of grace

That long-ex­pect­ed day.

He hears His saints

He knows their cry

And by mys­ter­ious ways

Redeems the pri­son­ers doomed to die

And fills their tongues with praise.