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J. Byrom

My spirit longeth for Thee,

Within my troubled breast

Altho' I be unworthy

Of so divine a Guest.

Of so divine a Guest,

Unworthy tho' I be,

Yet has my heart no rest,

Unless it come from Thee.

Unless it come from Thee,

In vain I look around;

In all that I can see,

No rest is to be found.


No rest is to be found,

But in Thy blesséd love;

O! let my wish be crown'd,

And send it from above!

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