The hart panteth after the waters,
The dying for life that departs;
The Lord in His glory for sinners,
For the love of rebellious hearts.
Call back all the days of the ages,
All snow-flakes come down from above;
All flowers of summers departed,
But think not to measure His love.
Behold Him, O soul, where He told it,
Pale, bleeding, and bearing thy sin;
He knocketh, saith, |Open, beloved,
I pray thee to let Me come in.
Behold, I have borne all the judgment,
Thy sins, O beloved, are gone;
Forgotten, forgotten for ever,
God seeketh, but findeth not one.
|Behold, with what labour I won thee,
Behold in My hands and My feet,
The tale of my measureless sorrow --
Of love that made sorrow so sweet.
A flax-thread in oceans of fire
How soon swallowed up would it be!
Yet sooner in oceans of mercy
The sinner that cometh to Me.|