I THIRST, but not as once I did,

It was the sight of Thy dear cross First weaned my soul from earthly things; And taught me to esteem as dross All worldly mirth, and pomp of kings.

I need that grace that springs from Thee, That quickens everywhere it flows, And makes a desert thorn like me, Please as the myrtle or the rose.

For of the plants around that share The notice of Thy gracious eye, None is less grateful of Thy care, Or yields Thee meaner fruit than I.

Dear Fountain of delights unknown, I would forsake this meaner part; Come, overflow, on me come down, Life-giving stream, O fill my heart.