Scripture Verse

If I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 1 Corinthians 13:2


Christopher Wordsworth (1807–1885)

Words: Chris­to­pher Words­worth, The Ho­ly Year (Lon­don: Riv­ing­tons, 1862), num­ber 28. In 8 [stanzas] of 4 [lines], and ap­point­ed for Quin­qua­ge­si­ma [the last Sun­day of Shrove­tide, be­fore Ash Wed­nes­day and the start of Lent], be­ing a me­tri­cal pa­ra­phrase of the Epis­tle for that day (Ju­li­an, p. 449).

Music: Cape­town Fried­rich Fil­itz, 1847 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tunes:

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Fil­itz (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),


Gracious Spir­it, Ho­ly Ghost,
Taught by Thee, we co­vet most
Of Thy gifts of Pen­te­cost,
Holy, heav’n­ly Love.

Faith, that mount­ains could re­move,
Tongues of earth or Heav’n above,
Knowledge—all things—emp­ty prove,
Without heav’n­ly love.

Though I as a mar­tyr bleed,
Give my goods the poor to feed,
All is vain—if love I need;
Therefore, give me love.

Love is kind, and suf­fers long,
Love is meek, and thinks no wrong,
Love than death it­self more strong;
Therefore, give us love.

Prophecy will fade away,
Melting in the light of day;
Love will ev­er with us stay;
Therefore, give us love.

Faith will van­ish into sight;
Hope be emp­tied in de­light;
Love in Heav’n will shine more bright;
Therefore, give us love.

Faith and hope and love we see
Joining hand in hand agree;
But the great­est of the three,
And the best, is love.

From the ov­er­sha­dow­ing
Of Thy gold and sil­ver wing
Shed on us, who to Thee sing,
Holy, heav’n­ly love.