Father, what can to Thee be giv’n
For all Thy mercies blest;
For riches of Thy glorious grace
And for the bliss of rest?
My weary soul doth pant for Thee
In dry and thorny land;
And in the howling wilderness
I find Thy guiding Hand.
Thou lovest me with love unknown,
When no one can console,
And, like the apple of Thine eye,
Preservest Thou my soul.