S. M. Mme. Guion. Living Waters. |
1 The fountain in its source No drought of summer fears; The further it pursues its course, The nobler it appears. 2 But shallow cisterns yield A scanty, short supply; The morning sees them amply filled, At evening they are dry. 3 The cisterns I forsake, O Fount of life, for Thee! My thirst with living waters slake, And drink eternity.
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