Why Does My God Forsake Me Will No More
Why does my God forsake me? will no more
Thy goodness aid me, when I life implore?
The tedious day, the live-long night I sigh;
In vain; thy saving pow’r does still deny.
Yet art thou holy, O thou sov’reign king;
Thy praise the sons of Sion constant sing;
On thee our fathers in their woes relied,
On thee they call’d, nor was thy aid denied.
Their only solace in their sore distress,
Benign thou heard’st their pray’r, and didst redress.
But I’m a worm no man am I the croud
With jeers insult me, and reproach aloud;
With killing scorn, who meet me in the way,
Shoot out the lip and make the head, and say;
“In God he plac’d his empty confidence;
“The Lord he boasted for his sure defence;
“Since Heav’n his glory, his delight he made,
“Let him support him now, and grant him aid.”
But sure, when in the dreary womb I lay,
Thy goodness gave me, to enjoy the day;
When a weak helpless infant at the breast,
Thou wast my God, and with thy favour blest:
Now then, when only thou canst comfort give,
Let me secure in thy protection live.
Wild bulls of Bashan compass me around;
Me they beset, and meditate the wound;
On me they gape, and threaten to devour,
And, like to fierce and famish’d lions, roar.
My blood flows out; shrunk up is ev’ry vein;
My feeble joints, my body scarce sustain;
My trembling tortur’d heart forgets to beat;
It melts, like wax dissolving in the heat:
Like a mere potsherd, am I dried away;
My strength is lost; my weaken’d limbs decay;
Close to my shrivel’d jaws my tongue does cleave,
And lo! I totter o’er the gaping grave.
For the whole impious rout enclose me round;
And, like fell wolves, my wretched body wound.
They pierce my hands my feet so lank I’m grown,
With ease may be distinguished bone from bone.
With the sad view they glut their rav’ning eye,
And feed their cruel hearts with horrid joy.
My various garments ‘mongst them they divide,
And, whose my vesture, by the lot is tried,
But, gracious Lord, thy pleading servant hear,
And haste my sad afflicted soul to chear,
Drive back the sword of my assaulting foes;
The fury of these rav’ning wolves oppose;
O save me, save me from the lions jaws,
And with thy strongest might support my cause.
From death redeem’d, thy goodness I’ll proclaim,
And in the glad assembly hymn thy name.
Ye humble souls, that fear the Lord, rejoice;
Ye sons of Jacob, raise the tuneful voice;
In festal hymns set forth his saving pow’r,
In songs of joy his clemency adore:
For, when th’ afflicted in sad anguish cried,
With scorn he heard not, nor his aid denied;
Nor from his mis’ries turn’d his face away,
But to his troubled soul restor’d the day.
Therefore his praises shall employ my tongue,
And all the pious tribes shall join the song.
The humbly meek, that seek th’ almighty Lord,
Who’ve long his glorious attributes ador’d,
With joy shall at his sacred banquet feed,
And satisfy their soul with living bread.
Yes; all the nations of the world shall own
His pow’r, shall worship ‘fore his awful throne;
Earth’s farthest bounds his statutes shall obey,
And with according voice avow his sway:
Earth’s farthest bounds are subject to his pow’r,
And he’s the universal governor.
The rich, the mighty, at his board shall sit,
And bless his sov’reign bounty, while they eat;
The poor, just sinking to the shades below,
‘Fore him in humble adoration bow.
A feed lhall ferve him, and his name adore,
And be accounted bis, till time’s no more ;
To people yet unborn his works proclaim, ‘
Difplay the wonders of his holy name ;
His dread inflictions on the haughty proud,
His ever-flowing mercy on the good,