1 From lowest Depths of Woe,
To GOD I sent my Cry;
LORD, hear my mournful Voice,
And graciously reply:
Should'st thou severely judge,
Who can the Trial bear?
But Pardon is with thee,
That Men thy name should fear.
2 My Soul with Patience waits,
And trusts in thee, O LORD;
My Hopes are built upon
Thy never-failing Word:
My longing Eyes look out,
For thy enliv'ning Ray;
Just as the Morning-Watch
Looks for the dawning Day.
3 Let Israel trust in GOD;
No Bounds his Mercy knows;
The Source and Spring from whence
Eternal Succour flows.
Whose friendly Streams, to us,
Supplies in Want convey;
A healing Stream to cleanse
And wash our Guilt away.
Francis Hopkinson; grad. College of Philadelphia with master’s degree; studied law and passed Pa. bar; opened conveyancer’s office in Philadelphia; musical and literary talent; prolific writer who frequently used pen name, A. B.
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