for the second Sunday of Advent

My spirit longeth for thee
Within my troubled breast:
Although I be unworthy
Of so divine a Guest.

Of so divine a Guest
Unworthy though I be;
Yet has my heart no rest,
Unless it comes from thee.

Unless it comes from thee,
In vain I look around:
In all that I can see,
No rest is to be found.

No rest is to be found,
But in thy blessed love;
O, let my wish be crowned,
And send it from above.
-John Byrom

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