more shall hunger pain their souls; He bids their parching thirst begone, And spreads the shadow of his wings To screen them from the scorching sun. The Lamb that fills the middle throne Shall shed around his milder beams; There shall they feast on his rich love, And drink full joys from living streams. Thus shall their mighty bliss renew Through the vast round of endless years; And the soft hand of sovereign grace Heals all their wounds and wipes their tears.