Jesus, my soul would nearer be
Than it has ever been to thee;
For it has searched this desert drear,
And found that nothing good dwells here.
Its wants are many, only thou
Canst satisfy its cravings now.
More of thy love it longs to know,
To prove its depth and fullness too:
It finds no love in things below.
The empty thou dost gladly fill;
The tossed and troubled thou dost still.
There is no pillow, save thy breast,
Whereon the weary head can rest.
Empty am I, and troubled sore;
Oh could I reach some tranquil shore:
Then draw me, Jesus, nearer thee,
That I divinely blest may be.