Psalm 77 (Version 1, Part 1)

To God I cry'd with mournful voice,

I sought his gracious ear,

In the sad day when troubles rose,

And fill'd the night with fear.

Sad were my days, and dark my nights,

My soul refus'd relief;

I thought on God the just and wise,

But thoughts increas'd my grief.

Still I complain'd, and still opprest,

My heart began to break;

My God, thy wrath forbid my rest,

And kept my eyes awake.

My overwhelming sorrows grew

Till I could speak no more;

Then I within myself withdrew,

And call'd thy judgments o'er.

I call'd back years and ancient times,

When I beheld thy face;

My spirit search'd for secret crimes

That might withhold thy grace.

I call'd thy mercies to my mind

Which I enjoy'd before;

And will the Lord no more be kind?

His face appear no more?

Will he for ever cast me off?

His promise ever fail?

Has he forgot his tender love?

Shall anger still prevail?

But I forbid this hopeless thought,

This dark despairing frame,

Rememb'ring what thy hand hath wrought,

Thy hand is still the same.

I'll think again of all thy ways,

And talk thy wonders o'er;

Thy wonders of recovering grace,

When flesh could hope no more.

Grace dwells with justice on the throne;

And men that love thy word

Have in thy sanctuary known

The counsels of the Lord.