Mourning And Longing.

The Saviour hides his face!     My spirit thirsts to prove     Renewd supplies of pardoning grace,     And never-fading love.     The favourd souls who know     What glories shine in him,     Pant for his presence as the roe     Pants for the living stream!     What trifles tease me now!     They swarm like summer flies,     They cleave to everything I do,     And swim before my eyes.     How dull the Sabbath-day,     Without the Sabbaths Lord!     How toilsome then to sing and pray,     And wait upon the word!     Of all the truths I hear,     How few delight my taste!     I glean a berry here and there,     But mourn the vintage past.     Yet let me (as I ought)     Still hope to be supplied;     No pleasure else is worth a thought,     Nor shall I be denied.     Though I am but a worm,     Unworthy of his care,     The Lord will my desire perform,     And grant me all my prayer.