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Lord, when iniquities abound, And blasphemy grows bold, When faith is hardly to be found, And love is waxing cold,

Is not thy chariot hastening on? Hast thou not given this sign? May we not trust and live upon A promise so divine?

"Yes," saith the Lord, "now will I rise, "And make oppressors flee; "I shall appear to their surprise, "And set my servants free."

Thy word, like silver seven times try'd, Thro' ages shall endure; The men that in thy truth confide, Shall find thy promise sure.

Psalm 13:1. L. M. Pleading with God under desertion; or, Hope, in darkness.

How long, 0 Lord, shall I complain Like one that seeks his God in vain? Canst thou thy face for ever hide? And I still pray and be deny'd?

Shall I for ever be forgot As one whom thou regardest not? Still shall my soul thine absence mourn? And still despair of thy return?

How long shall my poor troubled breast Be with these anxious thoughts opprest? And Satan, my malicious foe, Rejoice to see me sunk so low.

Hear, Lord, and grant me quick relief, Before my death conclude my grief; If thou withhold thy heavenly light, I sleep in everlasting night.

How will the powers of darkness boast, If but one praying soul be lost! But I have trusted in thy grace, And shall again behold thy face.

Whate'er my fears or foes suggest, Thou art my hope, my joy, my rest; My heart shall feel thy love, and raise My cheerful voice to songs of praise.

Psalm 13:2. C. M. Complaint under temptations of the devil.

How long wilt thou conceal thy face? My God, how long delay? When shall I feel those heavenly rays That chase my fears away?

How long shall my poor labouring soul Wrestle and toil in vain? Thy word can all my foes control, And ease my raging pain.

See how the prince of darkness tries All his malicious arts, He spreads a mist around my eyes, And throws his fiery darts.

Be thou my sun and thou my shield, My soul in safety keep; Make haste before mine eyes are seal'd In death's eternal sleep.

How would the tempter boast aloud If I become his prey! Behold the sons of hell grow proud At thy so long delay.

But they shall fly at thy rebuke, And Satan hide his head; He knows the terrors of thy look And hears thy voice with dread.

Thou wilt display that sovereign grace, Where all my hopes have hung; I shall employ my lips in praise, And victory shall be sung.