1 I hear a righteous man,
A prophet good and great,
In deep distress complain,
And thus his grief relate:
“I call on God, and cry and shout,
But all my prayer he shutteth out.”

2 He cries, and cries again,
And yet no answers come;
He shouts aloud through pain,
And still the Lord is dumb;
Like some abandoned wretch he moans,
And Jesus seems to mock his groans.

3 Let every drooping saint
Keep waiting evermore;
And though exceeding faint,
Knock on at mercy’s door;
Still cry and shout till night is past,
For daylight will spring up at last.

4 If Christ do not appear,
When his disciples cry,
He marketh every tear,
And counteth every sigh;
In all their sorrows bears a part,
Beholds their grief, and feels their smart.

5 He lends an unseen hand,
And gives a secret prop,
Which keeps them waiting stand,
Till he complete their hope!
So let me wait upon this Friend,
And trust him till my troubles end.