The Well of Sychar

Sweet was the hour

O Lord

to Thee

At Sy­char’s lone­ly well

When that poor out­cast heard Thee there

Thy great sal­va­tion tell.

Thither she came; but O

her heart

All filled with earth­ly care

Dreamed not of Thee

nor thought to find

The Hope of Is­ra­el there.

Lord! ’twas Thy pow­er un­seen that drew

The stray one to that place

In so­li­tude to learn from Thee

The sec­rets of Thy grace.

There Ja­cob’s er­ring daugh­ter found

Those streams unk­nown before

The wa­ter brooks of life that make

The wea­ry thirst no more.

And Lord

to us

as vile as she

Thy gra­cious lips have told

That mys­te­ry of love re­vealed

At Ja­cob’s well of old.

In spir­it

Lord

we’ve sat with Thee

Beside the spring­ing well

Of life and peace—and heard Thee there

Its heal­ing vir­tues tell.

Dead to the world

we dream no more

Of earth­ly plea­sures now;

Our deep

di­vine un­fail­ing spring

Of grace and glo­ry Thou!

No hope of rest in aught beside

No beau­ty

Lord

we see;

And

like Sa­ma­ria’s daugh­ter

seek

And find our all in Thee.