In vain we lav­ish out our lives
To ga­ther emp­ty wind;
The choic­est bless­ings earth can yield
Will starve a hun­gry mind.

Come, and the Lord shall feed our souls
With more sub­stan­tial meat;
With such as saints in glo­ry love,
With such as an­gels eat.

Our God will ev­ery want sup­ply,
And fill our hearts with peace;
He gives by co­ve­nant and by oath
The rich­es of His grace.

Come, and He’ll cleanse our spot­ted souls,
And wash away our stains
In the dear fount­ain that His Son
Poured from His dy­ing veins.

Our guilt shall van­ish all away,
Tho’ black as hell be­fore;
Our sins shall sink be­neath the sea,
And shall be found no more.

And lest pol­lu­tion should o’er­spread
Our in­ward pow­ers again,
His Spir­it shall be­dew our souls
Like pu­ri­fy­ing rain.

Our heart, that flin­ty stub­born thing,
That ter­rors can­not move,
That fears no threat­en­ings of His wrath,
Shall be dis­solved by love.

Or He can take the flint away
That would not be re­fined,
And from the trea­sures of His grace
Bestow a soft­er mind.

There shall His sac­red Spir­it dwell,
And deep en­grave His law,
And ev­ery mo­tion of our souls
To swift obe­di­ence draw.

Thus will He pour sal­va­tion down,
And we shall rend­er praise;
We the dear peo­ple of His love,
And He our God of grace.