Sweet was the hour, Ο Lord, to Thee,
At Sychar’s lonely well,
When a poor outcast heard
Thee there Thy great salvation tell.
Thither she came: but O, her heart,
All fill’d with earthly care,
Dream’d not of Thee, nor thought to find
The Hope of Israel there.
Lord! ‘twas thy power unseen that drew
The stray one to that place,
In solitude to learn from Thee
The secrets of Thy grace.
There Jacob’s erring daughter found
Those streams unknown before:
The waterbrooks of life that make
The weary thirst no more.
And, Lord, to us, as vile as she,
Thy gracious lips have told
That mystery of love, reveal’d
At Jacob’s well of old.
In spirit, Lord, we’ve sat with
Thee Beside the springing well
Of life and peace — and heard
Thee there Its healing virtues tell.
Dead to the world, we dream no more
Of earthly pleasures now;
Our deep, divine, unfailing spring
Of grace and glory, Thou!
No hope of rest in aught beside,
No beauty, Lord, we see,
And, like Samaria’s daughter, seek
And find our all in Thee.