Ere Each Morning Breaketh

1 Ere each morning breaketh
I would see Thy face,
Jesus! precious Saviour!
Jesus! King of grace.
For my thirsty spirit
Longs to drink again
Of the living river
Flowing through the plain.

2 Hark how sweet the music
As it dashes by,
Clear and fresh as ever
In its melody;
From the crystal city,
From the throne on high,
It has leaped to succour
Sinners—lest they die.

3 Flowing where the desert
Looks most parched and bare,
There its shining wavelets
Sparkle everywhere!
We, with dying thousands,
Would again partake
Of this crystal river:
It our thirst can slake.

4 It the drooping pastures
Can refresh and bless,
And with fragrant blossoms
Clothe the wilderness:
O Thou living Spirit,
Give us of Thy dew!
Then our souls, like gardens,
Will yield fruit anew.


Source: Hymns of Consecration and Faith #361