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 battle-fields,
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.