673    148th     John Berridge
No Rest but Christ. Isa. 11. 10; Matt. 11. 28, 29

1 When Jesus’ gracious hand
  Has touched our eyes and ears,
  O what a dreary land
  The wilderness appears!
  No healing balm springs from its dust;
  No cooling stream to quench the thirst.

2 Yet long I vainly sought
  A resting-place below;
  And that sweet land forgot
  Where living waters flow;
  I hunger now for heavenly food,
  And my poor heart cries out for God.

3 [Lord, enter in my breast,
  And with me sup and stay;
  Nor prove a hasty guest,
  Who tarries but a day;
  Upon my bosom fix thy throne,
  And pull each fancy idol down.]

4 My sorrow thou canst see,
  For thou dost read my heart;
  It pineth after thee,
  And yet from thee will start;
  Reclaim thy roving child at last,
  And fix my heart and bind it fast.

5 I would be near thy feet,
  Or at thy bleeding side;
  Feel how thy heart does beat,
  And see its purple tide;
  Trace all the wonders of thy death,
  And sing thy love in every breath.