QUICKEN THOU ME.
THE thorn is budding into life again,
The quickened vine puts out its tender shoots,
The warm, warm sunshine and the cool, cool rain
Feeding their hidden roots.
The quickened vine puts out its tender shoots,
The warm, warm sunshine and the cool, cool rain
Feeding their hidden roots.
Sweet Spirit, entering where no eye can see,
Reach this poor heart in all its waiting need,
And like the thorn and vine my life shall be
When Thou its roots dost feed.
Reach this poor heart in all its waiting need,
And like the thorn and vine my life shall be
When Thou its roots dost feed.
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