It pass­eth know­ledge, that dear love of Thine!
My Je­sus! Sav­ior! yet this soul of mine
Would of that love, in all its depth and length,
Its height and breadth, and ev­er­last­ing strength
Know more and more.

It pass­eth tell­ing! that dear love of Thine!
My Je­sus! Sav­ior! yet these lips of mine
Would fain pro­claim to sin­ners far and near
A love which can remove all guil­ty fear,
And love be­get.

It pass­eth prais­es! that dear love of Thine!
My Je­sus! Sav­ior yet this heart of mine
Would sing a love so rich, so full, so free,
Which brought an un­done sin­ner, such as me,
Right home to God.

But though I can­not tell, or sing, or know,
The full­ness of Thy love while here be­low,
My emp­ty ves­sel I may free­ly bring:
O Thou, who art of love the liv­ing spring,
My ves­sel fill.

I am an emp­ty ves­sel—not one thought,
Or look of love to Thee I ev­er brought;
Yet I may come, and come again to Thee,
With this the emp­ty sin­ner’s only plea—
Thou lov­est me!

Oh! fill me Je­sus Sav­ior with Thy love;
Lead, lead me to the liv­ing fount above!
Thither may I in sim­ple faith draw nigh
And ne­ver to ano­ther fount­ain fly,
But un­to Thee.

And when my Je­sus face to face I see,
When at His lof­ty throne I bow the knee,
Then of His love, in all its breadth and length,
Its height and depth, its ev­er­last­ing strength,
My soul shall sing.