The Chase

O Lord, the most fair, the most tender,

My heart is adrift and alone;

My heart is aweary and thirsty—

Athirst for a joy unknown.

From a child I have followed it—chased it,

By wilderness, wold, and hill—

I never have reached it or seen it,

yet must I follow it still.

In those olden years did I seek it

In the sweet fair things around,

But the more I sought and I thirsted,

The less, O my Lord, I found.

When nearest it seemed to my grasping,

It fled like a wandering thought;

I never have known what it is, Lord—

Too well know I what it is not.

“It is I, it is I, the Eternal,

Who chose thee Mine own to be—

Who chose thee before the ages—

Who chose thee eternally.

I stood in the way before thee,

In the ways thou wouldest have gone;

For this is the mark of My chosen,

That they shall be Mine alone.”