1034    L.M.     Henry Fowler
“The captive exile hasteneth that he may be loosed.” Isa. 51. 14

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.