Chwilio bum y greadigaeth

8,7,8,7,8,7,8,7

I had sought throughout creation,

Searched its vast, amazing whole,

For an object to delight in,

Adequate to fill the soul.

After turning nature's pages

Forward, backward, o'er and o'er,

I attained not satisfaction,

But my longings grew the more.

Then amid angelic orders

Asked I if there were not one,

Willing to extend his friendship

To a wretched soul undone:

Soon a lofty spirit answered,

"No; there is not one of us,

Can hold friendship with a spirit

Fallen, guilty, wandering thus."

Shame and grief now overwhelmed me, --

My sad heart was nigh to break,

All my frame with terror trembled,

And my tongue no more could speak;

Then gushed forth a briny torrent,

Down unto the crystal floor,

Nothing through unending ages,

Can from memory blot that hour.

Then a glance in helpless sorrow

Turned I to the central throne, --

There I saw the Mediator

Who for my life gave his own.

"There is He," I faintly whispered,

"Read I not upon His face,

That his heart is full of pity,

Full, to sinful worms, of grace?"

Then I drew unto his footstool,

Prostrate fell before his seat;

And I pleaded for his favour;

Pointing to his hands and feet:

"I will pour," I said, "my sorrow

And my need into his ear,

All my grief I will unbosom:

It is Jesus, need I fear!"

Then while I a bosom opened,

Full of darkness, want and sin,

He a bosom full of mercy

Opened to receive me in:

Those kind hands which once were piercèd,

Reached he forth to raise my head: --

From that all-transporting moment

All my hopeless longings fled.