The Thirst of God

The hart panteth after the waters,

The dying for life that departs;

The Lord in His glory for sinners,

For the love of rebellious hearts.

Call back all the days of the ages,

All snow-flakes come down from above;

All flowers of summers departed,

But think not to measure His love.

Behold Him, O soul, where He told it,

Pale, bleeding, and bearing thy sin;

He knocketh, saith, “Open, beloved,

I pray thee to let Me come in.

Behold, I have borne all the judgment,

Thy sins, O beloved, are gone;

Forgotten, forgotten for ever,

God seeketh, but findeth not one.

“Behold, with what labour I won thee,

Behold in My hands and My feet,

The tale of my measureless sorrow—

Of love that made sorrow so sweet.

A flax-thread in oceans of fire

How soon swallowed up would it be!

Yet sooner in oceans of mercy

The sinner that cometh to Me.”