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My Soul Thirsteth for God

 I thirst, but not as once I did,
The vain delights of earth to share;
Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid
That I should seek my pleasures there.
It was the sight of Thy dear cross First wean'd my soul from earthly things; And taught me to esteem as dross The mirth of fools and pomp of kings.
I want that grace that springs from Thee, That quickens all things where it flows, And makes a wretched thorn like me Bloom as the myrtle, or the rose.
Dear fountain of delight unknown! No longer sink below the brim; But overflow, and pour me down A living and life-giving stream! For sure of all the plants that share The notice of thy Father's eye, None proves less grateful to His care, Or yields him meaner fruit than I.

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