1 When we are rais'd from deep distress Our God deserves a song; We take the pattern of our praise From Hezekiah's tongue.
2 The gates of the devouring grave Are open'd wide in vain, If he that holds the keys of death Commands them fast again.
3 Pains of the flesh are wont t' abuse Our minds with slavish fears, "Our days are past, and we shall lose "The remnant of our years."
4 We chatter with a swallow's voice, Or like a dove we mourn, With bitterness instead of joys, Afflicted and forlorn.
5 Jehovah speaks the healing word, And no disease withstands; Fevers and plagues obey the Lord, And fly at his commands.
6 If half the strings of life should break, He can our frame restore; He casts our sins behind his back, And they are found no more.