Psalms 41-42

Psalm 41

1 JESUS, poorest of the poor!

Man of sorrows! Child of grief!

Happy they whose bounteous store Minister'd to Thy relief.

2 Jesus, though Thy head is crown'd, Crown'd with loftiest majesty. In Thy members Thou art found, Plunged in deepest poverty.

3 Happy they who wash Thy feet, Visit Thee in Thy distress!

Honour great, and labour sweet. For Thy sake the saints to bless!

4 They who feed Thy sick and faint For Thyself a banquet find;

They who clothe the naked saint Round Thy loins the raiment bind.

5 Thou wilt keep their soul alive; From their foes protect their head;

Languishing their strength revive, And in sickness make their bed.

6 Thou wilt deeds of love repay;

Grace shall gen'rous hearts reward Here on earth, and in the day When they meet their reigning Lord.

Charles H. Spurgeon, 1866.

Psalm 42 (1 of 2)

1 LIKE as the hart for water-brooks In thirst doth pant and bray; So pants ray longing soul, O God, That come to Thee I may.

2 My soul for God, the living God, Doth thirst: when shall I near Unto Thy countenance approach, And in God's sight appear?

3 My tears have unto me been meat, Both in the night and day, While unto me continually, Where is Thy God? they say.

4 My soul is poured out in me, When this I think upon;

Because that with the multitude I heretofore had gone:

5 With them into God's house I went With voice of joy and praise;

Yea, with the multitude that kept The solemn holy days.

6 Oh why art thou cast down, my soul?

Why in me so dismay'd?

Trust God, for I shall praise Him yet, His count'nance is mine aid.

7 My God, my soul's cast down in me;

Thee therefore mind I will From Jordan's land, the Hermonites, And e'en from Mizar's hill.

8 At noise of Thy dread waterspouts, Deep unto deep doth call;

Thy breaking waves pass over me, Yea, and Thy billows all.

9 Oh why art thou cast down, my soul?

Why thus with grief opprest, Art thou disquieted in me? In God still hope and rest:

10 For yet I know I shall Him praise, Who graciously to me, The health is of my countenance, Yea, mine own God is He.

Scotch Version, 1641. a.

Psalm 42 (2 of 2)

1 AS pants the hart for cooling streams, When heated in the chase, So pants my soul, O God, for Thee, And Thy refreshing grace.

2 For Thee, my God, the living God, My thirsty soul doth pine;

Oh when shall I behold Thy face, Thou Majesty divine?

3 I sigh to think of happier days, When Thou, O Lord, wert nigh: When every heart was tuned to praise, And none more blest than I.

4 Oh why art thou cast down, my soul?

Hope still, and thou shalt sing The praise of Him who is Thy God, Thy health's eternal spring.

Tate and Brady, 1696.