My Soul Thirsteth for God

I thirst, but not as once I did,The vain delights of earth to share;Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbidThat I should seek my pleasures there.

It was the sight of Thy dear crossFirst wean'd my soul from earthly things;And taught me to esteem as drossThe 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 meBloom as the myrtle, or the rose.

Dear fountain of delight unknown!No longer sink below the brim;But overflow, and pour me downA living and life-giving stream!

For sure of all the plants that shareThe notice of thy Father's eye,None proves less grateful to His care,Or yields him meaner fruit than I.