“The captive exile hasteneth that he may be loosed.” Isa. 51. 14
H. Fowler L.M.
1
Jesus, my soul’s athirst for thee;
Absent from thee I cannot rest;
Come now, reveal thyself to me;
I cannot leave thy throne unblest.
2
My base ingratitude I mourn,
A needy, helpless sinner still;
Dear Lord, I wait thy sweet return,
Thy gracious promise to fulfil.
3
Ah, whither shall thy prisoner flee?
Thy captive hastens to be loosed;
And would repose his trust in thee,
Though oft by sin and sorrow tossed.
4
Jesus is still the sinner’s Friend,
Although the billows roll between;
And since his love is to the end,
Ere long he’ll change this gloomy scene.
