God in Hea­ven hath a trea­sure,
Riches none may count or tell;
Hath a deep eter­nal plea­sure,
Christ, the Son, He lov­eth well.
God hath here on earth a trea­sure,
None but He its price may know—
Deep, un­fath­om­able plea­sure,
Christ re­vealed in saints be­low.

Christ, the light that fills the hea­vens,
Shining forth on earth be­neath,
Through His Spir­it freely giv­en,
Light of life ’midst shades of death;
Down from Heav’n’s un­cloud­ed glo­ry
God Him­self the trea­sure brought,
Closing thus His love’s sweet sto­ry
With His sweet­est, deep­est thought.

God in tongues of fire des­cend­ing,
Chosen ves­sels thus to fill
With the trea­sure ne­ver end­ing,
Ever spent—un­failing still.
Still un­wast­ed, un­di­min­ished,
Though the days of dearth wear on,
Store eter­nal­ly un­fin­ished,
Fresh, as if but now be­gun.

Earthen ves­sels, marred, un­sight­ly,
But the trea­sure as of old,
Fresh from glo­ry, gleam­ing bright­ly,
Heav’n’s un­dimmed, un­chang­ing gold.
God’s own hand the ves­sel fill­ing
From the glo­ry far above,
Longing hearts for­ev­er still­ing
With those rich­es of His love.

Thus, through earth­en ves­sels on­ly,
Shining forth in cease­less grace,
Reaching wea­ry hearts and lone­ly,
Beams the light in Je­sus’ face.
Vessels worth­less, brok­en, bear­ing
Through the hun­gry ag­es on,
Riches giv’n with hand un­spar­ing,
God’s great gift, His pre­cious Son.

Thus though worn, and tried, and tempt­ed,
Glorious call­ing, saint, is thine;
Let the Lord but find thee emp­tied
Living branch in Christ the Vine!
Vessels of the world’s des­pis­ing,
Vessels weak, and poor, and base;
Bearing wealth God’s heart is priz­ing,
Glory from Christ’s bless­èd face.

Oh, to be but emp­ti­er, low­li­er,
Mean, un­noticed, and un­known.
And to God a ves­sel ho­li­er,
Filled with Christ, and Christ alone!
Naught of earth to cloud the glo­ry,
Naught of self the light to dim.
Telling forth His won­drous sto­ry,
Emptied—to be filled with Him.