Wondrous Lover! Shall I say
Thou hast thrown thyself away?
Drench’d with anguish, steep’d in woe,
Thou must needs, insatiate still,
Linger wearily below,
Prison’d to thy creatures’ will:
While the current of the days
Murmurs insult more than praise!
Here I find thee, hour by hour,
Waiting in thy altar-home,
Full of mercy, full of power—
Mutely waiting till we come:
Waiting for a soul to bless,
Some poor sinner to caress.
Forth, then, from the fragrant hush,
Where I almost hear thee beat,
Bid a benediction gush—
O’er me, thro’ me, thrilling sweet!
Heart of Jesus, full of me,
Fill mine—till it break with thee!