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.