Lovelier far than Sharon’s Rose,

Music no such sweetness knows;

E’en the Lily’s modest white

Ceases to afford delight;

When my Lord and Saviour’s here,

All but vanity appear!

Ophir’s gold, how poor and dim!

What are pearls compared with him?

Pleasure is a specious name,

Diadems no glory claim!

Give me but a sight of him,

All beside’s a baseless dream.

Blessed Jesus! let my tongue

Evermore thy love prolong;

Can I cease to think of Thee,

Life’s immortal, fragrant tree?

Rather let the crimson tide

Instant from its channels glide!

No! my heart to Thee is given,

All my bliss is fixed in heaven:

All my wish to feel thy grace,

Taste thy love and see thy grace,

Where each ardent spirit vies,

Thee to praise in highest skies.