Only Version ❧ CM · 8·6·8·6
To the chief Musician, Maschil, for the sons of Korah.
1 Like as the hart for water-brooks in thirst doth pant and bray; So pants my longing soul, O God, that come to thee I may.
2 My soul for God, the living God, doth thirst: when shall I near Unto thy countenance approach, and in God’s sight appear?
3 My tears have unto me been meat, both in the night and day, While unto me continually, Where is thy God? they say.
4 My soul is poured out in me, when this I think upon; Because that with the multitude I heretofore had gone:
With them into God’s house I went, with voice of joy and praise; Yea, with the multitude that kept the solemn holy days.
5 O why art thou cast down, my soul? why in me so dismay’d? Trust God, for I shall praise him yet, his count’nance is mine aid.
6 My God, my soul’s cast down in me; thee therefore mind I will From Jordan’s land, the Hermonites, and ev’n from Mizar hill.
7 At the noise of thy water-spouts deep unto deep doth call; Thy breaking waves pass over me, yea, and thy billows all.
8 His loving-kindness yet the Lord command will in the day, His song’s with me by night; to God, by whom I live, I’ll pray:
9 And I will say to God my rock, Why me forgett’st thou so? Why, for my foes’ oppression, thus mourning do I go?
10 ‘Tis as a sword within my bones, when my foes me upbraid; Ev’n when by them, Where is thy God? ‘tis daily to me said.
11 O why art thou cast down, my soul? why, thus with grief opprest, Art thou disquieted in me? in God still hope and rest:
For yet I know I shall him praise, who graciously to me The health is of my countenance, yea, mine own God is he.