“My heart and my flesh crieth out.” Ps. 84. 2
J. Berridge 148th
With solemn weekly state
The worldling treads thy court,
Content to see thy gate,
And such as there resort;
But ah! what is the house to me,
Unless the Master I can see?
Nought will content my heart
But fellowship with him;
And when from him I start,
My life is all a dream;
I seem to eat and take my fill,
But wake and feel my hunger still.
In vain I seek for rest
In all created good;
It leaves me yet unblest,
And makes me pant for God;
And restless sure my heart must be
Till finding all its rest in thee.
For thee my soul would cry,
And send a labouring groan;
For thee my heart would sigh,
And make a pensive moan;
And each for thee would daily pine,
And would be always only thine.