Deep in a cold, a joyless cell,
A doleful gulf of gloomy care,
Where dismal doubts and darkness dwell,
A dang’rous brink of black despair,
Chill’d by the icy damps of death,
I feel no firm support of faith.

How can a burden’d cripple rise?
How can a fetter’d captive flee?
Ah! Lord, direct my wishful eyes
And let me look, at least, to thee.
Alas! my sinking spirits droop
I scarce perceive a glimpse of hope.

Recordings 1 2 3