Psalm XXXI. Common Metre. Relief from distress

Come, O ye Saints, your voices raise, To God in grateful songs; And let the memory of his grace Inspire your your heart and tongues.

His Town, what mortal can sustain? But soon his anger dies, His life-restoring smile again Returns, and sorrow flies.

Her deepest gloom, when sorrow spreads, And light and hope depart, His face, celestial morning sheds And joy revives the heart.

To thee, my God, oppress'd with grief, I breath'd my humble cry; Thy mercy brought divine relief, And wip'd my weeping eye.

Thy mercy chas'd the shades of death, And snatch'd me from the grave; O may thy praise employ that breath, Which mercy deigns to save.