HOW long wilt Thou conceal Thy face? My God, how long delay? When shall I feel those heavenly rays That chase my fears away?
See how the prince of darkness tries All his malicious arts: He spreads a mist around my eyes, And throws his fiery darts.
How would the tempter boast aloud If I became his prey! And how the sons of earth grow proud At Thy so long delay.
But hell shall fly at Thy rebuke, And Satan hide his head; He knows the terrors of Thy look, And hears Thy voice with dread.
Thou wilt display that sovereign grace Where all my hopes have hung: I shall employ my heart in praise, And victory shall be sung.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748