O why art thou cast down, my soul? why, thus with grief opprest, Art thou disquieted in me? in God still hope and rest: For yet I know I shall him praise, who graciously to me The health is of my countenance, yea, mine own God is he.
Why art thou then cast down, my soul? what should discourage thee? And why with vexing thoughts art thou disquieted in me? Still trust in God; for him to praise good cause I yet shall have: He of my count'nance is the health, my God that doth me save.