Thou hidden love of God, whose hight,

Whose depth, unfathomed, no man knows,

I see from far thy beauteous light:

Inly I sigh for thy repose;

My heart is pained; nor can it be

At rest till it find rest in thee.

2 Thy secret voice invites me still

The sweetness of thy yoke to prove;

And fain I would; but though my will

Seems fixed, yet wide my passions rove;

Yet hindrances strew all the way;

I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.

3 ’Tis mercy all, that thou hast brought

My mind to seek her peace in thee;

Yet, while I seek, but find thee not,

No peace my wandering soul shall see.

O, when shall all my wanderings end,

And all my steps to thee-ward tend?

4 Is there a thing beneath the sun

That strives with thee my heart to share?

Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone,

The Lord of every motion there:

Then shall my heart from earth be free,

When it hath found repose in thee.