There is a longing,
Imperfect in this life;
Yet fully supplied,
According to the measure
Of its intensity:
As I stand, wearily,
Yonder in the wilderness;
Far from the holy soil,
Of my native land;
My long, and wistful gaze,
Yearns across the narrow valley,
Seeking the Rushing Waters,
That flow freely therein:
Oh my soul thirsteth
For Almighty God;
Yea, for the Living God.
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