A. L. Waring
MY heart is resting, O my God,
I will give thanks and sing:
My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing.
Oh, peace of God that passeth thought,
I daily, hourly sing,
My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing.
2
Now the frail vessel Thou hast made,
No hand but Thine shall fill;
The waters of the earth have failed,
And I am thirsty still.
3
I thirst for springs of heavenly life,
And here all day they rise;
I seek the treasure of Thy love,
And close at hand it lies.
4
And a new song is in my mouth,
To long-loved music set,
Glory to Thee for all the grace
I have not tasted yet.
5
I have a heritage of joy
That yet I must not see;
The hand that bled to make it mine
Is keeping it for me.
6
There is a certainty of love
That sets my heart at rest;
A calm assurance for today
That to be poor is best.
7
A prayer reposing on His truth,
Who hath made all things mine;
That draws my captive will to Him,
And makes it one with Thine.