Classic Poem

Behold, O Lord! I faint, I sink!
Pluck the poor slave from death's dark brink;
From them, who hate me, set me free,
Oh! snatch me from the roaring sea.

Let not the angry billows roll,
Nor let the pit engulf my soul;
Oh! hear me, Lord! for thou art kind,
Thy boundless mercy call to mind.

Thou knowest all the scorn and shame,
With which my foes reproach my name;
My bosom bleeds, my heart is broke,
I sink beneath the heavy yoke.

I look for some with me to grieve,
But ah! my soul alone they leave;
I seek a sympathizing friend,
But none a tender look will lend.

But God will hear the needy cry,
He heeds the suff'rer's faintest sigh;
He sees whose wearied heart desponds,
And will remember those in bonds.