I heard the sound of some small voice
That called out ever sweetly,
"So hungry am I, I might die
If no one comes to feed me."
I searched until I found the source-
A pretty little flower,
A rosebud, drooping in the sun
And dying, hour by hour.
When planted in the flowerbed,
She'd stood up straight and tall.
The stem that once held her erect
Now had no strength at all.
Her leaves were limp and shriveling,
No longer a bright green,
Her petals, wilting, nearly gone,
Were saddest I had seen.
And sadder yet, were her thin roots,
That lay within the ground.
The soil that fed them had dried out.
No moisture could be found.
When, all at once, from clouds above,
There came a wondrous rain.
Then when it soaked the earth below,
The rosebud lived again.
And times I sigh with soul so dry,
My Father hears my cry.
He sends his Son, who saved my soul
And does not pass me by.
The living water from the Lord
Now feeds my hungry heart
With mercy, grace, and truth and love
That never will depart.
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