88 | Psalm 88 | 7 6. 7 6. D | |
LORD God of my salvation, To Thee alone I cry; O let my supplications Be heard by Thee on high; For troubles gather round me, And life draws near the grave; O come in love and mercy, Descend, my soul to save. |
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2 | Thine anger lies upon me, Thy billows o’er me roll, My friends all seem to shun me, And foes beset my soul, Where’er on earth I turn me, No comforter is near; Wilt even Thou, Lord, spurn me? Wilt Thou refuse to hear? |
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3 | Though banished, Lord, and broken My soul still clings to Thee; Thy promise Thou hast spoken Shall still my refuge be. These present ills and terrors Shall future joy increase, And scourge me from my errors, To duty, hope, and peace. |
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Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847 |