THE FOUNTAIN OF LIVING WATERS.
WHERE is it? We have wandered far
O'er lonely wastes and scorching sands,
And sought to quench our burning thirst
In the cool streams of foreign lands;
But we have felt an after thirst,
A longing still for fresh supplies;
O tell us where, 'mid scenes of earth,
This fount of living waters lies. Where is it? We have weary grown
Of drinking but to thirst again;
Say, is it found on Europe's shore,
Or far on India's burning plain?
Is it amid the dreary wastes
Of desert Afric far away?
Or in some isle of southern seas
Round which the restless billows play? Pilgrim of earth! O, why afar
Through ancient deserts should you stray!
For faint and weary still you are,
And dangers darken all your way.
O'er India's plains, o'er Afric's wastes,
Through foreign climes you seek in vain,
And shiv'ring toil 'mid arctic snows,
Yet ne'er the wished-for object gain. But there's a voice whose gentle tones
All sweetly breathe from sacred lore;
I am, saith Christ, that living fount
Where thou mayest drink and thirst no more.
O, worn and weary, sick of earth,
Weak, fainting pilgrim, come to me;
The fount of living waters here
In me, thy great Redeemer, see! Thou need'st not bring the wealth of earth,
No treasures dug from earthly mine,
No glit'ring gems of matchless worth,
In payment for that draught divine;
But bring a soul that longs and pines
For joys that God alone can give,
And, kneeling at his hallowed shrine,
Of heaven's pure waters drink and live!