Not of ter­res­tri­al mor­tal themes
Not of the world’s de­lus­ive dreams
My soul at­tempts to sing;
But of that theme di­vine­ly true,
Ever de­light­ful, ev­er new—
My Je­sus and my king.

Oh could I speak the match­less worth,
Oh could I sound the glo­ries forth,
Which in my Sav­ior shine!
I’d soar, and touch the hea­ven­ly strings
And vie with Ga­bri­el while he sings
In notes al­most di­vine.

Upon the theme I’d ev­er dwell,
And in trans­port­ing rap­tures tell
What I in Je­sus see;
I’d sing with more than mor­tal voice,
And lose my life amidst the joys
Of what He is to me.

Prostrate be­fore His throne I’d fall,
And bless His ho­ly name for all
The rich­es of His grace.
I’d sing how glo­ri­ous power sub­dued,
I’d sing how so­ve­reign love re­newed
The vil­est of the race.

I’d sing the pre­cious blood He spilt,
My ran­som from the dread­ful guilt
Of sin, and wrath di­vine;
I’d sing His glo­ri­ous right­eous­ness,
In which all-per­fect, hea­ven­ly dress
My soul shall ev­er shine.

I’d sing the cha­rac­ters He bears,
And all the forms of love He wears,
Exalted on His throne;
In lof­ti­est songs of sweet­est praise,
I would to ev­er­last­ing days
Make all His glo­ries known.

But ah! I’m still in clay con­fined,
And mor­tal pas­sions clog my mind,
And down­ward drag me still;
O when shall I at­tain the skies,
And to im­mor­tal glo­ries rise
On Zion’s hea­ven­ly hill?

Well, the de­light­ful day will come,
When He, dear Lord! will bring me home,
And I shall see His face;
Then with my Sav­ior, bro­ther, friend,
A blest eter­ni­ty I’ll spend,
Triumphant in His grace.