As pants the hart for water brooks,
So pants my soul for thee,
O God: My soul doth thirst for God,
The living God to see.

When shall I come and appear
Before the face of God?
My tears have unto me been meat,
Both in the night and day,

While unto me continually
They say, Where is thy God?
My soul is poured 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.
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.
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.

Why art thou then cast down, my soul?
What should discourage thee?
And why with vexing thoughts art thou
Disquieted in me?

Still trust in God; for him to praise
Good cause I yet shall have:
He of my count'nance is the health,
My God that doth me save.