| Why has my God, my soul forsook, nor will a smile afford
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| Thus David once in anguish spoke and thus our dying Lord
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| Oh it’s Your chief delight to dwell among Your praising saints
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| And yet You hear us groan as well and pity our complaints
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| Our fathers trusted in Your name and great deliverance found
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| But He’s a worm despised of men who trod him to the ground
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| Men shake their heads and pass Him by and laugh His soul to scorn
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| ‘In vain He trusts in God', they cry, neglected and forlorn
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| But You are He who formed His flesh by Your own mighty word
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| And since He hung upon the breast His hope was in the Lord
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| Why would His father hide His face when foes stand threatening ‘round
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| In His dark hour of deep distress and not a helper found
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| Why, oh why, my God?
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| Why, oh why, my God?
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| For the joy set before Him He endured
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| And is seated at the right hand of the Throne
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| Well done, good and faithful, well done
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| Well done, good and faithful One
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| Behold Your dear One left along with the cruel and the proud
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| As mighty bulls so fierce and strong, as lions roaring loud
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| For mirth and hell and sorrows meet to multiply the pain
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| They nail His hands, they pierce His feet and mock Him yet again
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| Yet if Your sovereign hand let loose the rage of earth and hell
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| Why would my Heavenly Father bruise the Son He loved so well?
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| He prayed in dark Gethsemane, ‘Withhold this bitter cup'
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| But He resigned His will to Thee and drank the sorrows up
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| Our Savior cried with David’s grief, in groans I waste my breath
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| Thy hand has brought me down beneath the bitter dust of death
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| And then He gave His spirit up to trust it in Your hand
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| His dying flesh reposed in hope, to rise at Your command
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| Why, oh why, my God?
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| Why, oh why, my God?
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| For the joy before Him He endured
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| And is seated at the right hand of the Throne
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| Well done, good and faithful, well done
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| Well done, good and faithful, well done
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| Well done good and faithful One |