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Lord, do not in hot displeasure Lay Thy heavy hand on me.
Let Thy chast'ning be in measure; Thy rebukes from anger free.
For Thy hand most surely presses, Fast Thy arrows stick within;
Wrath my weary flesh distresses, Gives my bones no rest from sin.

O'er my head like billows rushing, My transgressions risen are.
Like a burden heavy crushing, Greater far than I can bear.
Loathsome are my wounds neglected, My own folly makes it so;
Bowed with grief and much afflicted, All the day I mourning go.

For my loins are filled with burning, Health in me no more remains.
I am feeble, bruised, and mourning, Groaning loud thro' inward pains.
My desires and ceaseless wailing, Loud, unveil'd before Thee lie;
Pants my heart my strength is failing, All its light has left mine eye.