O Love divine, of all that is
The sweetest still and best.
Fain would I come and rest to night
Upon Thy tender breast:
I pray Thee turn me not away;
For, sinful though I be,
Thou knowest every thing I need,
And all my need of Thee.

And yet the spirit in my heart
Says, Wherefore should I pray
That Thou shouldst seek me with Thy love,
Since Thou dost seek alway?
And dost not even wait until
I urge my steps to Thee;
But in the darkness of my life
Art coming still to me.

But Thou wilt hear the thought I mean,
And not the words I say;
Wilt hear the thanks among the words,
That only seem to pray.
Still, still Thy love will beckon me,
And still Thy strength to come
In many ways to bear me up
And bring me to my home.