Choir makes me a softy

Thou Hidden Love of God

Thou hidden love of God whose height,
Whose depth unfathomed no one knows,
I see from afar thy beauteous light,
And inly sigh for thy repose;
My heart is pained nor can I be
At rest until I rest in thee.

'Tis mercy all that thou hast brought
My mind to seek its peace in thee;
Yet while I seek, but find thee not,
No peace my wand'ring soul shall see.

O when shall all my wand'rings end,
And all my steps to theeward tend?

Is there a thing beneath the sun
That strives with thee my heart to share?
Ah, tear it thence and reign alone,
The Lord of ev'ry motion there.
Make me thy duteous child that I
May ceaseless "Abba, Father" cry.

Each moment draw from earth away
My heart that lowly waits thy call;
Speak to my inmost soul and say
"I am thy love, thy God, thy all!"
To feel thy pow'r to hear thy voice,
To taste thy love, be all my choice.

My heart is pained, nor can it be at rest,
Until I rest in thee.

-John Wesley 1703-91