 | 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 battlefields,/ 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./ Amen. Words: Cecil Frances Alexander. Music: Arthur Henry Brown. Video: Michael-Hubert Lamla. | Views: 0  0 ratings |
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Sunday, 16 October 2011
His Are The Thousand Sparkling Rills (The English Hymnal No. 117)
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