A per­fect path of pur­est grace,
Unblemished and com­plete,
Was Thine, Thou spot­less Na­za­rite,
Pure, ev­en to the feet.

Thy stain­less life, Thy love­ly walk,
In ev­ery as­pect true,
From the de­file­ment all around,
No taint of ev­il drew.

No brok­en ser­vice, Lord was Thine,
No change was in Thy way;
Unsullied in Thy ho­li­ness,
Thy strength knew no de­cay.

The vow was on Thee—Thou didst come,
To yield Thy­self to death;
And con­se­cra­tion marked Thy path,
And spoke in ev­ery breath.

Morning by morn­ing Thou didst wake,
Amidst this poi­soned air;
Yet no con­ta­gion touched Thy soul,
No sin dis­turbed Thy pray­er.

Thus, Lord we love to trace Thy course,
To mark where Thou hast trod,
And fol­low Thee with lov­ing eye,
Up to the throne of God.