The Voice of My Beloved

Sol. 8:13, 14.

Mine own Beloved’s voice!
‘Tis this I wait to hear!
No earthborn music half so choice,
No other tones so dear.

He soon will come again!
I shall His glory see!
He came long since, in grief and pain,
To seek and ransom me.

He left His royal throne
To free the captive slave;
He found me—mark’d me for His own;
Oh, what a price He gave!

The costly price of blood
Deliver’d me from hell;
And made my title clear and good
With Him on high to dwell—

His love as death is strong,
No floods can drown its tide;
And loving Him, I pant and long
To shelter at His side.

Far more His heart doth yearn
To call His exile borne;
A few short hours, He will return,
And I no more shall roam.

Within His garden fair
The milk white lilies grow;
“ A little while” He tarries where
You living waters flow.

Make haste, Beloved, make haste,
Desire my spirit thrills:
Apart from Thee, the world’s a waste;
Come quickly o’er the hills!