At Jacob's Well

The noonday's sun from Ebal's crest
On Shechem's valley fell;
A weary Man sat down to rest,
Alone by Jacob's well.

The woman with her pitcher hied
Down to the deep well's brink:
She little thought Who sat beside,
And ask'd her for a drink.

She little dream'd what lips were those
That made that poor request:
Lips whence the living water flows,
Wherewith all hearts are blest.

O, often to our hearths and homes,
When least we know or think,
Athirst, and weary, Jesus comes,
And bids us give Him drink.

He asks us by some daily care,
Some claim of common life;
Some heart that hath a grief to share,
Some work with kindness rife.

Make haste, and hear thy Saviour's call,
Let love and pity plead;
Make haste, and let thy pitcher fall,
And do the tender deed.

So from the depths of love divine,
The streams of grace shall pour;
Wash that sin-wearied soul of thine,
And let thee thirst no more.
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