His are the thousand sparkling rills
That from a thousand fountains burst,
And fill with music all the hills;
And yet He saith, “I thirst.”

All fiery pangs on battlefields;
On fever beds where sick men toss,
And in that human cry He yields
To anguish on the cross.

But more than pains that racked Him then,
Was the deep longing thirst divine
That thirsted for the souls of men:
Dear Lord! and one was mine.

O Love most patient, give me grace;
Make all my soul athirst for Thee;
That parched dry lip, that fading face,
That thirst, were all for me.

O perfect God, Thy love
As perfect Man did share
Here upon earth each form of ill
Thy fellow men must bear.

Now from the tree of scorn
We hear Thy voice again;
Thou Who didst take our mortal flesh
Hast felt our mortal pain.

Thy body suffers thirst,
Parched are Thy lips and dry:
How poor the offering man can bring
Thy thirst to satisfy!

O Savior, by Thy thirst
Borne on the cross of shame,
Grant us in all our sufferings leave
To glorify Thy Name.

That through each pain and grief
Our souls may onward move
To gain more likeness to Thy life,
More knowledge of Thy love.