Psalm 40 Poem by Isaac Watts
I waited patient for the Lord,
He bow’d to hear my cry;
He saw me resting on his word,
And brought salvation nigh.
He rais’d me from a horrid pit,
Where mourning long I lay,
And from my bonds releas’d my feet,
Deep bonds of miry clay.
Firm on a rock he made me stand,
And taught my cheerful tongue
To praise the wonders of his hand,
In a new thankful song.
I’ll spread His works of grace abroad;
The saints with joy shall hear,
And sinners learn to make my God
Their only hope and fear.
How many are thy thoughts of love;
Thy mercies, Lord, how great!
We have not words nor hours enough
Their numbers to repeat.
When I’m afflicted, poor and low,
And light and peace depart,
My God beholds my heavy woe,
And bears me on his heart.