Lest all the world You hold within Your hands
Should not suffice the hunger of my heart;
The fields and forests, and the distant strands
Where You have worked, Your beauty to impart.
Lest I, blind in intemperance, should fail
To hear Your voice in every whispered breeze,
And find my very love of life grown stale,
And my ears blocked to Your sublime decrees.
Take then this self (by self impoverished),
Make me the captive of Your large delight.
In You my broken cisterns are refreshed;
Your glory burns the scales that cloaked my sight.
Show me Yourself. My heart, stretched wide to meet,
Is satisfied. I conquer in defeat.
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