I thirst, but not as once I did, 
The vain delights of earth to share; 
Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid 
That I should seek my pleasures there. 

It was the sight of Thy dear cross 
First wean'd my soul from earthly things; 
And taught me to esteem as dross 
The mirth of fools and pomp of kings. 

I want that grace that springs from Thee, 
That quickens all things where it flows, 
And makes a wretched thorn like me 
Bloom as the myrtle, or the rose. 

Dear fountain of delight unknown! 
No longer sink below the brim; 
But overflow, and pour me down 
A living and life-giving stream! 

For sure of all the plants that share 
The notice of thy Father's eye, 
None proves less grateful to His care, 
Or yields him meaner fruit than I.