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THE THIRST OF GOD

John iv. 7.

               The hart panteth after the waters,
                    The dying for life that departs;
                                    The Lord in His glory for sinners,
                    For the love of rebellious hearts.
                                    Call back all the days of the ages,
                    All snow-flakes come down from above;
                                    All flowers of summers departed,
                    But think not to measure His love.
                                    
               Behold Him, O soul, where He told it,
                    Pale, bleeding, and bearing thy sin;
                                    He knocketh, saith, "Open, beloved,
                    I pray thee to let Me come in.
                                    Behold, I have borne all the judgment,
                    Thy sins, O beloved, are gone;
                                    Forgotten, forgotten for ever,
                    God seeketh, but findeth not one.
                                    
               "Behold, with what labour I won thee,
                    Behold in My hands and My feet,
                                    The tale of my measureless sorrow--
                    Of love that made sorrow so sweet.
                                    A flax-thread in oceans of fire
                    How soon swallowed up would it be!
                                    Yet sooner in oceans of mercy
                    The sinner that cometh to Me."
                    

H. Suso.


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