Early, my God, with­out de­lay,
I haste to seek Thy face;
My thirs­ty spir­it faints away
Without Thy cheer­ing grace.

So pil­grims on the scorch­ing sand,
Beneath a burn­ing sky
Long for a cool­ing stream at hand,
And they must drink or die.

I’ve seen Thy glo­ry and Thy pow­er
Through all Thy tem­ple shine;
My God, re­peat that heav’n­ly hour,
That vi­sion so di­vine.

Not all the bless­ings of a feast
Can please my soul so well,
As when Thy rich­er grace I taste,
And in Thy pre­sence dwell.

Not life it­self, with all her joys,
Can my best pass­ions move,
Or raise so high my cheer­ful voice,
As Thy for­giv­ing love.

Thus till my last ex­pir­ing day
I’ll bless my God and king;
Thus will I lift my hands to pray,
And tune my lips to sing.