Within, and on, and by me.
And let my heart Thy cradle be,
Come, come and lie Thou down in me,
With all Thy joys and treasures!
'Tis true, that I should think how poor
And mean my entertaining,
Than dust and ashes I'm no more,
Thou mad'st, art all-sustaining,
Yet Thou'rt a guest belov'd and priz'd,
For never yet hast Thou despis'd