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140

8,8,8,8,8,8

tr., John Brownlie

141

I

God sent me to the desert wild,

Where all is parched with endless drought,

For I had grown a wayward child,

And now my sin had found me out;—

He sent me to the desert drear,

And, ah! my soul was charged with fear.

II

I wandered where the brooks were dry,

While memory wove a dismal song,

And to my God I raised my cry,

And sang my dirge the whole day long;—

For I was in the desert drear,

And, ah! my soul was charged with fear.

III

The God of grace His comfort sent,

And soon the desert blossomed fair,

While round my path, where’er I went,

Sweet flowers poured forth their odours rare;—

He sent me to a desert drear,

Now flowers and luscious fruits appear.

IV

O God, when by the path of sin,

We reach the land where famine reigns;

And dread possesses all within,

And all around are woes and pains;—

Then make the world a desert rare,

Of joys upspringing everywhere.

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