Not what I am, O Lord, but what Thou art!
That, that alone can be my soul’s true rest:
Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt de­part,
And stills the tem­pest of my throb­bing breast.

It is Thy per­fect love the casts out fear;
I know the voice that speaks the It is I;
And in these well known words of heav’n­ly cheer,
I hear the joy that bids each sor­row fly.

Thy name is Love! I hear it from yon cross;
Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb:
All mean­er love is per­ish­able dross,
But this shall light me thro’ time’s thick­est gloom.

It bless­es now, and shall for ev­er bless,
It saves me now, and shall for ev­er save;
It holds me up in days of help­less­ness,
It bears me safe­ly o’er each swell­ing wave.

Girt with the love of God on ev­ery side,
Breathing that love as Heav’ns own heal­ing air,
I work or wait, still fol­low­ing my guide,
Braving each foe, es­cap­ing ev­ery snare.

’Tis what I know of Thee, my Lord and God,
That fills my soul with peace, my lips with song:
Thou art my health, my joy, my staff and rod;
Leaning on Thee, in weak­ness I am strong.

I am all want and hun­ger; this faint heart
Pines for a full­ness which it finds not here;
Dear ones are leav­ing, and, as they de­part,
Make room with­in for some­thing yet more dear.

More of Thy­self, O show me hour by hour;
More of Thy glo­ry, O my God and Lord:
More of Thy­self in all Thy grace and power,
More of Thy love and truth, in­car­nate Word!