Thou who givest of Thy gladness
     Till the cup runs o’er—
Cup whereof the pilgrim weary
     Drinks to thirst no more—
Not a-nigh me, but within me
     Is Thy joy divine;
Thou, O Lord, hast made Thy dwelling
     In this heart of mine.

Need I that a law should bind me
     Captive unto Thee?
Captive is my heart, rejoicing
     Never to be free.
Ever with me, glorious, awful,
     Tender, passing sweet,
One upon whose heart I rest me,
     Worship at His Feet.

With me, wheresoe’er I wander,
     That great Presence goes,
That unutterable gladness,
     Undisturbed repose.
Everywhere the blessed stillness
     Of His Holy Place—
Stillness of the love that worships
     Dumb before His Face.

To Thy house, O God my Father,
     Thy lost child is come;
Led by wandering lights no longer,
     I have found my home.
Over moor and fen I tracked them
     Through the midnight blast,
But to find the Light eternal
     In my heart at last.