Thy mighty God, deserted wanderer, where?'
"Oft dwell my thoughts on those thrice happy days,
When to Thy fane I led the willing throng;
Our mirth was worship, all our pleasure praise,
And festal joys still closed with sacred song.
"Why throb, my heart? why sink, my saddening soul,
Why droop to earth, with various foes oppress'd?
My years shall yet in blissful circles roll,
And peace be yet an inmate of this breast.
"By Jordan's banks with devious steps I stray,