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 pourèd 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 dismayed?
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,
is 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 oppresed,
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.