884    148th     John Berridge
“My heart and my flesh crieth out.” Ps. 84. 2

1 With solemn weekly state
  The worldling treads thy court,
  Content to see thy gate,
  And such as there resort;
  But ah! what is the house to me,
  Unless the Master I can see?

2 Nought will content my heart
  But fellowship with him;
  And when from him I start,
  My life is all a dream;
  I seem to eat and take my fill,
  But wake and feel my hunger still.

3 In vain I seek for rest
  In all created good;
  It leaves me yet unblest,
  And makes me pant for God;
  And restless sure my heart must be
  Till finding all its rest in thee.

4 For thee my soul would cry,
  And send a labouring groan;
  For thee my heart would sigh,
  And each for thee would daily pine,
  And would be always only thine.