You have made us for Yourself, O God, and our hearts are restless ‘til they rest in thee. –St. Augustine
To melancholic souls joy comes not quick.
We feel the aches of life, our flaws profound.
So apt are we to fret o’er smoldering wick,
Though “Not one shall be quenched,” His vow resounds.
We ache for the perfection He shall give;
So slow to change, for steadiness we yearn.
E’er struggling to forget ourselves and live,
Pained, restless hearts! We hunger peace to learn.
And yet, our pains convince us of our need;
Our restlessness can drive us forth to Him.
In Him alone perfection finds its seed;
In Him, unchanging, die our worries grim.
‘Tis Christ for whom my soul has ever pined;
In none but Him all good I crave, I find.