1 Wilt Thou not visit me?
The plant beside me feels Thy gentle dew;
Each blade of grass I see,
From Thy deep earth its quickening moisture drew.
2 Wilt Thou not visit me?
Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone;
And every hill and tree
Lend but one voice, the voice of Thee alone.
3 Come! for I need Thy love,
More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain;
Come, like Thy holy dove,
And let me in Thy sight rejoice to live again.
4 Yes! Thou wilt visit me;
Nor plant nor tree Thine eye delights so well,
As when, from sin set free,
Man's spirit comes with Thine in peace to dwell.