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J. Taylor

My soul doth pant towards Thee,

My GOD, source of eternal life:

Flesh fights with me;

Oh end the strife,

And part us, that in peace I may



My wearied spirit, and take

My flight to Thy eternal spring,

Where, for His sake

Who is my King,

I may wash all my tears away,

That day.

Thou Conqueror of death,

Glorious triumpher o'er the grave,

Whose holy breath

Was spent to save

Lost mankind, make me to be styled

Thy child,

And take me when I die

And go unto my dust; my soul

Above the sky

With saints enrol,

That in Thy arms, for ever, I

May lie.

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