1 I waited meekly for the Lord,
Till He vouchsaf'd a kind Reply;
Who did His gracious Ear afford,
And heard from Heav'n my humble Cry.
2 He took me from the dismal Pit,
When founder'd deep in miry Clay;
On solid Ground He plac'd my Feet,
And suffer'd not my Steps to stray.
3 The Wonders He for me has wrought,
Shall fill my Mouth with Songs of Praise;
And others, to his Worship brought,
To Hopes of like Deliv'rance raise.
4 For Blessings shall that Man reward,
Who on th' Almighty Lord relies;
Who treats the Proud with Disregard,
And hates the Hypocrite's Disguise.
5 Who can the Wond'rous works recount,
Which Thou, O God, for us hast wrought?
The Treasures of thy Love surmount
The Pow'r of Numbers, Speech and Thought.
6 I've learnt, that Thou hast not desir'd
Off'rings and Sacrifice alone;
Nor Blood of guiltless Beasts requir'd,
For Man's Transgression to atone.
7 I therefor come - come to fulfil
The Oracles thy Books impart:
8 'Tis my Delight to do thy Will;
Thy Law is written in my Heart.
9 In full Assemblies I have told
Thy Truth and Righteousness at large;
Nor did, Thou know'st, my Lips with-hold
From uttering what Thou gav'st in Charge;
10 Nor kept within my Breast confin'd
Thy Faithfulness, and saving Grace;
But preach'd thy Love, for all design'd,
That All might That, and Truth, embrace.
11 Then let those Mercies I declar'd
to others, Lord, extend to me:
Thy loving Kindness my Reward,
Thy Truth my safe Protection be.
12 For I with Troubles am distress'd,
Too vast and numberless to bear;
Nor less with Loads of Guilt oppress'd,
That plunge and sink me to Despair.
As soon, alas! I may recount
The Hairs on this afflicted Head;
My vanquish'd Courage they surmount,
And fill my drooping Soul with Dread.
13 But, Lord, to my Relief draw near;
For never was more pressing Need:
In my Deliv'rance, Lord, appear,
And add to that Deliv'rance Speed.
14 Confusion on their Heads return,
Who to destroy my soul combine;
Let them, defeated, blush and mourn,
Ensnar'd in their own vile Design.
15 Their Doom let Desolation be,
With Shame their Malice be repaid,
Who mock'd my Confidence in Thee,
And Sport of my Affliction made:
16 While those, who humbly seek thy Face,
To joyful Triumphs shall be rais'd;
And all, who prize thy saving Grace,
With me resound, the Lord be prais'd.
17 Thus, wretched tho' I am, and poor,
Of me th' Almighty Lord takes Care:
Thou, God, who only canst restore,
To my Relief with Speed repair.