1 His are the thousand sparkling rills
That from a thousand fountains burst,
And fill with music all the hills;
And yet he saith, "I thirst."
2 All fiery pangs on battlefields,
On fever beds where sick men toss,
Are in that human cry he yields
To anguish on the cross.
3 But more than pains that racked him then
Was the deep longing thirst divine
That thirsted for the souls of men;
Dear Lord! and one was mine.
4 O Love most patient, give me grace;
Make all my soul athirst for thee;
That parched dry lip, that fading face,
That thirst, were all for me.
Source: Trinity Hymnal #180