THIRST, but earth cannot allay
The fever coursing through my veins,
The healing stream is far awayp;p;
It flows through Salem's lovely plains.
murmurs of its crystal flow
Break ever o'er this world of strife;
My heart is weary, let me go,
To bathe it in the stream of life;
many worn and weary hearts
Have bathed in this pure healing stream,
And felt their griefs and cares depart,
E'en like some sad forgotten dream.
Word is nigh thee, even in thy heart."
not, within thy weary heart,
Who shall ascend above,
To bring unto thy fever'd lips
The fount of joy and love.
do thou seek to vainly delve
Where death's pale angels tread,
To hear the murmur of its flow
Around the silent dead.
in thee is one living fount,
Fed from the springs above;
There quench thy thirst till thou shalt bathe
In God's own sea of love.