Psalm 42

As the hart for water panteth,
So my soul for Thee, O God.
It to stand before Thee wanteth
And to see the living God.
Tears my meat are night and day;
"Where is God?" they ever say.
"If He love thee, why doth leave thee?
God doth certainly deceive thee."

Now, recalling, pain doth meet me,
For I often, with the crowd,
Hastened to Thy gates to greet Thee,
Singing joyful praises loud.
Why, my soul, art thou cast down?
Why so hopelessly dost moan?
Hope in God, for He upraises;
Thou shalt yet declare His praises.

Torn I am from Thee asunder;
Still Thy mercies I recall.
Depths of woe about me thunder,
Waves of sorrow on me fall,
Yet doth God His love command—
In the day I see His hand,
In the night I sing His praises,
And its prayer my spirit raises.

I will say to God, my shelter,
"Why forgettest Thou my plight?
Why with mourning must I swelter
In my foes' oppressive might?"
Woeful hurts on me they lay;
"Where is God?" they ever say.
"If He love thee, why doth leave thee?
God doth certainly deceive thee."

God my countenance doth nourish;
I shall yet His pow'r adore,
In His holy courts shall flourish,
Laud His grace forevermore.
Why, my soul, art thou cast down?
Why so hopelessly dost moan?
Hope in God, for He upraises;
Thou shalt yet declare His praises.

—To "Freu dich sehr," 7/11/2013