My heart is resting, O my God;
I will give thanks and sing:
My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing.
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.
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.
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.
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.
There is a certainty of love
That sets my heart at rest;
A calm assurance for to-day
That to be poor is best!
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.
--Anna Letitia Waring.