My spi­rit longs for Thee,
Within my trou­bled breast,
Though I un­wor­thy be
Of so di­vine a guest.

Of so di­vine a guest
Unworthy though I be,
Yet has my heart no rest
Unless it come from Thee.

Unless it come from Thee,
In vain I look around;
In all that I can see
No rest is to be found.

No rest is to be found
But in Thy bless­èd love;
O let my wish be crowned
And send it from above.

Cheer up, de­spond­ing soul,
Thy long­ing, pleased, I see;
’Tis part of that great whole,
Wherewith I longed for thee.

Wherewith I longed for thee,
And left My Fa­ther’s throne;
From death to see thee free,
To claim thee for My own.

To claim thee for My own,
I suf­fered on the cross:
Oh! were My love but known,
No soul could fear its loss.

No soul could fear its loss,
But, filled with love di­vine,
Would die on its own cross,
And rise for ev­er Mine.