Lord, with glow­ing heart I’d praise Thee,
For the bliss Thy love be­stows,
For the par­don­ing grace that saves me,
And the peace that from it flows:
Help, O God, my weak en­dea­vor;
This dull soul to rap­ture raise:
Thou must light the flame, or ne­ver
Can my love be warmed to praise.

Praise, my soul, the God that sought thee,
Wretched wan­der­er, far as­tray;
Found thee lost, and kind­ly brought thee
From the paths of death away;
Praise, with love’s de­vout­est feel­ing,
Him who saw thy guilt-born fear,
And the light of hope re­veal­ing,
Bade the blood-stained cross ap­pear.

Praise thy Sav­ior God that drew thee
To that cross, new life to give,
Held a blood sealed par­don to thee,
Bade thee look to Him and live.
Praise the grace whose threats alarmed thee,
Roused thee from thy fa­tal ease;
Praise the grace whose pro­mise warmed thee,
Praise the grace that whis­pered peace.

Lord, this bo­som’s ar­dent feel­ing
Vainly would my lips ex­press.
Low be­fore Thy foot­stool kneel­ing,
Deign Thy sup­pli­ant’s pray­er to bless:
Let Thy grace, my soul’s chief trea­sure,
Love’s pure flame with­in me raise;
And, since words can ne­ver mea­sure,
Let my life show forth Thy praise.