The Cry of Israel

THOU knowest my tongue, O God,

Fain would it bring

A precious gift—the songs

Thou makest me sing!

Thou guidest my steps from eld;

If boon too high

I ask—Thou gavest me speech,

Spurn not my cry!

My thoughts hast Thou made pure

As whitest fleece;

Thou wilt not that mine heart

Shall ne’er have peace.

Oh, be my refuge now,

Even as of yore.

My God, my Savior, Thou—

Tarry no more!