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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=412807" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Psalm 102 part 1</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">v.1-13,20,21 <br>C. M.<br>A prayer of the afflicted.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hear me, O God, nor hide thy face;<br>But answer, lest I die;<br>Hast thou not built a throne of grace<br>To hear when sinners cry?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My days are wasted like the smoke<br>Dissolving in the air;<br>My strength is dried, my heart is broke,<br>And sinking in despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My spirits flag like with'ring grass<br>Burnt with excessive heat;<br>In secret groans my minutes pass,<br>And I forget to eat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As on some lonely building's top<br>The sparrow tells her moan,<br>Far from the tents of joy and hope<br>I sit and grieve alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My soul is like a wilderness,<br>Where beasts of midnight howl;<br>There the sad raven finds her place,<br>And there the screaming owl.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dark, dismal thoughts, and boding fears,<br>Dwell in my troubled breast;<br>While sharp reproaches wound my ears,<br>Nor give my spirit rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My cup is mingled with my woes,<br>And tears are my repast;<br>My daily bread, like ashes, grows<br>Unpleasant to my taste.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sense can afford no real joy<br>To souls that feel thy frown;<br>Lord, 'twas thy hand advanced me high,<br>Thy hand hath cast me down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My looks like withered leaves appear;<br>And life's declining light<br>Grows faint as evening shadows are<br>That vanish into night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But thou for ever art the same,<br>O my eternal God;<br>Ages to come shall know thy name,<br>And spread thy works abroad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou wilt arise and show thy face,<br>Nor will my Lord delay<br>Beyond th' appointed hour of grace,<br>That long-expected day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He hears his saints, he knows their cry,<br>And by mysterious ways<br>Redeems the pris'ners doomed to die,<br>And fills their tongues with praise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isaac+Watts">Isaac Watts</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=412807" data-title="Psalm 102 part 1 de Isaac Watts" data-description="v.1-13,20,21 
C. M.
A prayer of the afflicted.

Hear me, O God, nor hide thy face;
But answer, lest I die;
Hast thou not built a throne of grace
To hear when sinners cry?

My days are wasted like the smoke
Dissolving in the air;
My strength is dri..."></div>
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