A poem on Psalm 42.
As the deer pants for streams that flow,
so longs my soul, O God, to know.
My heart is Dry, my spirit worn;
I Thirst for You, my hope Forlorn.
Day after day, I seek Your face,
but tears have been my food in place.
“Where is your God?” the Scoffers cry,
their taunts like echoes in the sky.
I think of days when Joy was near, —
when songs of Praise would fill my ear.
Amid the Throng, I led the way
to celebrate the Holy Day.
Why are you low, O soul of mine?
Hope in the Lord; His Light will shine.
Though waves and breakers crash above,
still Deep calls out to Deep in Love.
By day His Lovingkindness remains;
by night His Song through Grief sustains.
I cry to Him, “O God, Defend!
Why must my foes in triumph end?”
They pierce my heart with words Untrue,
yet still, my Trust is Fixed on You.
Why are you low, O soul of mine?
The Lord will Save in His own time.
The Lutheran Column 