1. His are the thousand sparkling rills That from a thousand foundation burst, And fill with music all the hills; And yet He saith, ‘I thirst.’ 2. All fiery pangs on battle fields, On fever beds where sick men toss, Are in that human cry He yields To anguish on the Cross. 3. But more than pains that racked Him then Was the deep longing thirst divine That thirsted for the souls of men; Dear Lord! and one was mine. 4. O Love most patient, give me grace; Make all my soul athrist for Thee; That parched dry lip, that fading face, That thirst, were all for me.