When the water is spent in the pitcher,
And the outcast weeps alone,
Near at hand, in the desert land,
Is a fountain all unknown.
A fountain whose living waters,
From the springs of His love are fed.
Who numbers the stars of heaven,
And the hairs of the wanderer’s head.
He opens the eyes that were weeping,
That fountain of life they see;
It flowed from His side in the day that He died.
O, thirsting soul, for thee.
In the noon of the burning desert
That marvelous fount unsealed;
In the drought of the soul despairing
Christ, Christ revealed.
Christ for the wilderness journey;
Christ when the journey is past;
Christ the beginning and ending;
Christ the first and the last.