1 Go not, my soul, in search of Him,
Thou wilt not find him there,
Not in the depths of shadow dim,
Nor heights of upper air.
For not in far off realms of space
The Spirit hath its throne;
In ev'ry heart it findeth place,
And waiteth to be known.
2 Tho't answereth alone to tho't,
And Soul with soul hath kin:
The outward God he findeth not
Who finds not God within.
And if the vision come to thee
Reveal'd by inward sign,
Earth will be full of Deity,
And with his glory shine.
3 O gift of gifts! O grace of grace!
That God should condescend
To make thy heart his dwelling place
And be thy daily Friend!
For not in far off realms of space
The Spirit hath its throne;
In ev'ry heart it findeth place,
And waiteth to be known.