Gerhard Tersteegen

Thou who givest of Thy gladness
     Till the cup runs o’er—

Thou who givest of Thy gladness
     Till the cup runs o’er—
Cup whereof the pilgrim weary
     Drinks to thirst no more—
Not a-nigh me, but within me
     Is Thy joy divine;
Thou, O Lord, hast made Thy dwelling
     In this heart of mine.

Need I that a law should bind me
     Captive unto Thee?
Captive is my heart, rejoicing
     Never to be free.
Ever with me, glorious, awful,
     Tender, passing sweet,
One upon whose heart I rest me,
     Worship at His Feet.

With me, wheresoe’er I wander,
     That great Presence goes,
That unutterable gladness,
     Undisturbed repose.
Everywhere the blessed stillness
     Of His Holy Place—
Stillness of the love that worships
     Dumb before His Face.

To Thy house, O God my Father,
     Thy lost child is come;
Led by wandering lights no longer,
     I have found my home.
Over moor and fen I tracked them
     Through the midnight blast,
But to find the Light eternal
     In my heart at last.

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