Psalm 42 Poem by Isaac Watts
With earnest longings of the mind,
My God, to thee I look;
So pants the hunted hart to find
And taste the cooling brook.
When shall I see thy courts of grace,
And meet my God again?
So long an absence from thy face
My heart endures with pain.
Temptations vex my weary soul,
And tears are my repast;
The foe insults without control,
“And where’s your God at last?”
‘Tis with a mournful pleasure now
I think on ancient days;
Then to thy house did numbers go,
And all our work was praise.
But why, my soul, sunk down so far
Beneath this heavy load?
Why do my thoughts indulge despair,
And sin against my God?
Hope in the Lord, whose mighty hand
Can all thy woes remove,
For I shall yet before him stand,
And sing restoring love.