The hungry, starving soul doth cry,
Feed me, or I must cease to be;
And let the bread of love supply
My spirit's great necessity.
Nor think it strange. All things of life
Require their food, their vital air;
And perish on their field of strife,
If life's supplies are wanting there.
The dews descend on thirsty flower;
The heavens send radiance from above;
And so these hungry souls of ours
Live in the dews and rays of love.
Jesus is Love; the living Bread;
His own dear life He doth bestow;
And souls who on that life are fed,
The pangs of hunger shall not know.
Feed me, or I must cease to be;
And let the bread of love supply
My spirit's great necessity.
Nor think it strange. All things of life
Require their food, their vital air;
And perish on their field of strife,
If life's supplies are wanting there.
The dews descend on thirsty flower;
The heavens send radiance from above;
And so these hungry souls of ours
Live in the dews and rays of love.
Jesus is Love; the living Bread;
His own dear life He doth bestow;
And souls who on that life are fed,
The pangs of hunger shall not know.
— Christ in the Soul (1872) XLIII.
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