By J. Randal Matheny © 2015
“All my life, my heart has sought a thing
I cannot name,” the searching poet wrote.
I know the name of what he seeks — we sing
Each Sunday praise to Jesus — in every note
A tone of love and joy and satisfaction.
Here’s home, full blessed, complete — what all we sought,
In him we find, the empty heart’s attraction.
What we could not produce, the Savior brought:
To be with God, to walk in his ways, to know
His kindness — never spoke a mortal man
As he addressed the crowds, a voice so low
And meek, like none have heard since Earth began.
So let us tell the poet and all his friends —
In Jesus Christ their frantic searching ends.
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