As pants the hart for cooling streams
when heated in the chase,
so longs my soul, O God, for thee
and thy refreshing grace.
Let all the world in every corner sing, My God and King.
For thee, my God, the living God,
my thirsty soul doth pine:
O when shall I behold thy face,
thou Majesty divine?
Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Trust God who will employ
His aid for thee and change these sighs
To thankful hymns of joy.