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Chwilio bum y greadigaeth


I had sought throughout creation,

Searched its vast, amazing whole,

For an object to delight in,

Adequate to fill the soul.

After turning nature’s pages

Forward, backward, o’er and o’er,

I attained not satisfaction,

But my longings grew the more.

Then amid angelic orders

Asked I if there were not one,

Willing to extend his friendship

To a wretched soul undone:

Soon a lofty spirit answered,

“No; there is not one of us,

Can hold friendship with a spirit

Fallen, guilty, wandering thus.”

Shame and grief now overwhelmed me,—

My sad heart was nigh to break,

All my frame with terror trembled,

And my tongue no more could speak;

Then gushed forth a briny torrent,

Down unto the crystal floor,

Nothing through unending ages,

Can from memory blot that hour.

Then a glance in helpless sorrow

Turned I to the central throne,—

There I saw the Mediator

Who for my life gave his own.

“There is He,” I faintly whispered,

“Read I not upon His face,

That his heart is full of pity,

Full, to sinful worms, of grace?”

Then I drew unto his footstool,

Prostrate fell before his seat;

And I pleaded for his favour;

Pointing to his hands and feet:


“I will pour,” I said, “my sorrow

And my need into his ear,

All my grief I will unbosom:

It is Jesus, need I fear!”

Then while I a bosom opened,

Full of darkness, want and sin,

He a bosom full of mercy

Opened to receive me in:

Those kind hands which once were piercèd,

Reached he forth to raise my head:—

From that all-transporting moment

All my hopeless longings fled.

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