The Savior hides his face!

My spirit thirsts to prove

Renewed supplies of pard’ning grace,

And never–fading love.

The favored souls who know

What glories shine in him,

Pant for his presence, as the roe

Pants for the living stream!

What trifles tease me now!

They swarm like summer flies,

They cleave to everything I do,

And swim before my eyes.

How dull the Sabbath day,

Without the Sabbath’s LORD!

How toilsome then to sing and pray,

And wait upon the word!

Of all the truths I hear

How few delight my taste!

I glean a berry here and there,

But mourn the vintage past.

Yet let me (as I ought)

Still hope to be supplied;

No pleasure else is worth a thought,

Nor shall I be denied.

Though I am but a worm,

Unworthy of his care;

The LORD will my desire perform,

And grant me all my prayer.