“When I cry … he shutteth out my prayer.” Lam. 3. 8

J. Berridge   148th

I hear a righteous man,
A prophet good and great,
In deep distress complain,
And thus his grief relate:
“I call on God, and cry and shout,
But all my prayer he shutteth out.”

He cries, and cries again,
And yet no answers come;
He shouts aloud through pain,
And still the Lord is dumb;
Like some abandoned wretch he moans,
And Jesus seems to mock his groans.

Let every drooping saint
Keep waiting evermore;
And though exceeding faint,
Knock on at mercy’s door;
Still cry and shout till night is past,
For daylight will spring up at last.

If Christ do not appear,
When his disciples cry,
He marketh every tear,
And counteth every sigh;
In all their sorrows bears a part,
Beholds their grief, and feels their smart.

He lends an unseen hand,
And gives a secret prop,
Which keeps them waiting stand,
Till he complete their hope!
So let me wait upon this Friend,
And trust him till my troubles end.


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