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! |