I will exalt You, Lord my King— You drew me up from death’s dark tide. You healed me when my bones cried out, You snatched me back from Satan’s pride. Sing, O saints—pour out your praise! His anger lasts but for a night, Then joy comes blazing with the dawn, And weeping kneels to golden light. "I once stood firm," my proud heart said, "My mountain stands—it cannot shake!" But You hid Your face—one breath—one gasp— And all my strength began to break. I called to You in desperate wails, "What gain is there if I am lost? Will dust praise You? Will it proclaim?" Then You turned my sackcloth into dance— Now my feet will never stop! So here I stand—no silent tongue, My grief now clothed in jubilee. O Lord my God, I’ll thank You yet— Forever—through eternity!
