HYMN XCVI. Longing after Christ

Companions of thy little Flock, Dear Lord we fain would be; Our helpless Hearts to Thee look up, To Thee our Shepherd flee.

O might I lean upon that Breast Which Love and pity fill, And now become those Lambs carest, That in thy Bosom dwell.

How sweet that Voice, How sweet that Hand Which leads to Pastures fair, Shews Canaan's Milk and Honey Land, Lot of thy Flock so dear.

Rich Grace, free Grace, most sweetly calls, Directly come who will, Just as you are; for Christ receives Poor helpless Sinners still.

'Tis Grace each Day that feeds our Souls; Grace keeps us inly poor; And O! that nothing else but Grace May Rule for evermore.

As one in Heart let's all rejoice The Sinner's Friend to praise; The Shepherd dy'd; Oh! 'tis his Voice; He'll us to Glory raise.