1 When we are rais'd from deep distress
Our God deserves a song;
We take the pattern of our praise
From Hezekiah's tongue.
2 The gates of the devouring grave
Are open'd wide in vain,
If he that holds the keys of death
Commands them fast again.
3 Pains of the flesh are wont t' abuse
Our minds with slavish fears,
|Our days are past, and we shall lose
|The remnant of our years.|
4 We chatter with a swallow's voice,
Or like a dove we mourn,
With bitterness instead of joys,
Afflicted and forlorn.
5 Jehovah speaks the healing word,
And no disease withstands;
Fevers and plagues obey the Lord,
And fly at his commands.
6 If half the strings of life should break,
He can our frame restore;
He casts our sins behind his back,
And they are found no more.