As pants the hart for cooling streams,
When heated in the chase,
So longs my soul, O God, for Thee
And Thy refreshing grace.

For Thee, my God, the living God,
My thirsty soul doth pine;
O, when shall I behold Thy face,
Thou majesty divine?

God of my strength, how long shall I
Like one forgotten mourn,
Forlorn, forsaken and exposed
To my oppressor’s scorn?

Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Hope still; and thou shalt sing
The praise of Him Who is thy God,
Thy health’s eternal spring.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
The God Whom we adore,
Be glory as it was, is now,
And shall be evermore.

As pants the hart for streams of living water,
So longs my soul, O living God, for Thee;
I thirst for Thee, for Thee my heart is yearning;
When shall I come Thy gracious face to see?

O Lord my God, overwhelmed in deep affliction,
Far from Thy rest, to Thee I lift my soul;
Deep calls to deep and storms of trouble thunder,
While over my head the waves and billows roll.

Thou wilt command Thy servant’s consolation,
Thy lovingkindness yet shall cheer my day,
And in the night Thy song shall be my comfort;
God of my life, to Thee I still will pray.

Why, O my soul, art thou cast down within me,
Why art thou troubled and oppressed with grief?
Hope thou in God, the God of thy salvation,
Hope, and thy God will surely send relief.

As thirst the hart for water brooks,
So thirsts my soul, O God, for Thee;
It seeks for God, and ever looks,
And longs the living God to see,
And longs the living God to see.

Far from the courts of God, my tears
Have been my food by night and day,
While constantly with bitter sneers,
Where is thy God? the scoffers say,
Where is thy God? the scoffers say.

With grief I think of days gone by,
When oft I trod the hallowed way
To Zion, praising God on high
With throngs who kept the holy day,
With throngs who kept the holy day.

O why art thou cast down, my soul,
And why so troubled shouldst thou be?
Hope thou in God, and Him extol,
Who gives His saving help to me,
Who gives His saving help to me.

As pants the hart for streams of living water,
So longs my soul, O living God, for Thee;
I thirst for Thee, for Thee my heart is yearning;
When shall I come Thy gracious face to see?

O Lord my God, overwhelmed in deep affliction,
Far from Thy rest, to Thee I lift my soul;
Deep calls to deep and storms of trouble thunder,
While over my head the waves and billows roll.

Thou wilt command Thy servant’s consolation,
Thy lovingkindness yet shall cheer my day,
And in the night Thy song shall be my comfort;
God of my life, to Thee I still will pray.

Why, O my soul, art thou cast down within me,
Why art thou troubled and oppressed with grief?
Hope thou in God, the God of thy salvation,
Hope, and thy God will surely send relief.

Sweet place; sweet place alone!
The court of God most high,
The heaven of heavens, the throne
Of spotless majesty!

Refrain

O happy place!
When shall I be, my God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

The stranger homeward bends,
And sigheth for his rest:
Heaven is my home, my friends
Lodge there in Abraham’s breast.

Refrain

Earth’s but a sorry tent,
Pitched but a few frail days,
A short leased tenement;
Heaven’s still my song, my praise.

Refrain

No tears from any eyes
Drop in that holy choir:
But death itself there dies,
And sighs themselves expire.

Refrain

There should temptations cease,
My frailties there should end.
There should I rest in peace
In the arms of my best friend.

Refrain

Jerusalem on high
My song and city is,
My home whene’er I die,
The center of my bliss.

Refrain

Thy walls, sweet city! thine
With pearls are garnished,
Thy gates with praises shine,
Thy streets with gold are spread.

Refrain

No sun by day shines there,
No moon by silent night.
O no! these needless are;
The Lamb’s the city’s light.

Refrain

There dwells my Lord, my King,
Judged here unfit to live;
There angels to Him sing,
And lowly homage give.

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The patriarchs of old
There from their travels cease:
The prophets there behold
Their longed for Prince of peace.

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The Lamb’s apostles there
I might with joy behold:
The harpers I might hear
Harping on harps of gold.

Refrain

The bleeding martyrs, they
Within those courts are found;
All clothed in pure array,
Their scars with glory crowned.

Refrain

Ah me! ah me! that I
In Kedar’s tents here stay;
No place like this on high;
Thither, Lord! guide my way.

Refrain