My God, my heart is parched—how shall I slake?Who now will soothe what burns and make it wake?
The voice of doubt rings in my ear today,But for my pride, I'd speak and turn away!
My heart hath grown a stranger in its love,A love most pure—who knows what it doth prove?
I'm strange among all creatures of the earth,Yet in this love I fear no hidden dearth.
I ask of God concerning this poor heart,If I live by it still, or must depart.
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