O Thou On Whose Blest Mercy I Rely

O thou, on whose blest mercy I rely,
Humbly to thee, by day, by night, I cry;
Turn not, indulgent God, thy face away,
But gracious hear, when in distress I pray;
Immers’d my anguish’d soul in dreadful woe,
E’en now she’s sinking to the depths below;
Languid my limbs, my strength, my vigour fled,
Soon, soon shall I be number’d with the dead;
Like his pale carcase mould’ring in the grave,
Whose life thy sov’reign justice wou’d not save;
In youth’s full bloom who by the jav’lin dies,
Clos’d in a dread eternal sleep his eyes;
In death’s low dungeon thus confin’d, shall I,
Wrapt in amazing, dismal darkness, lie.
Still thy afflictive hand does press me sore,
And all thy threat’ning storms around me roar;
Far from my presence fly my wonted friends;
Me in my sad distress not one attends;
Shock’d at my wretched fate, they haste away,
And leave me to my killing griefs a prey.
Mean while, mine eyes, my hands, I lift to thee,
And in deep anguish plead thy clemency.
Wilt thou thy wonders to the dead display,
Or can the dead their adoration pay?
Shall the drear tomb thy glorious mercy shew?
The gloomy grave thy gracious goodness know?
Shall dreadful silence celebrate thy pow’r?
Shall everlasting night thy truth adore?
Constant to thee I’ve cried, all-clement Lord,
Constant thy saving mercy I’ve implor’d.
Ah! why dost thou thy pow’rful aid forbear?
Ah! why regardless hear my urgent pray’r?
E’en from my tender years I’ve known my grief,
Nor from thy terrors have I found relief;
Thy terrors that distract my heart with fear,
Thy terrors that reduce me to despair;
Thy dreadful terrors that my soul surround,
Like rain that deluges the fertile ground.
Helplefs I lie, deserted by my friends;
No kind companion his assistance lends;
Lest in my sorrows to myself alone,
Heaves my griev’d heart, and piteously I moan.