Would I know Him if He stood here
By my side, by my side?
Doth the cru­el, cru­el nail-prints
Yet abide, yet abide?
Would He show me in His beau­ty
So divine, so di­vine,
That in rap­ture I would feel Him
To be mine, to be mine?

When to Sa­tan thou dost an­swer,
Flee from me, flee from me!
When be­tween thee and the Mas­ter,
Naught shall be, naught shall be;
On thine eyes shall flash a vi­sion,
Wondrous fair, won­drous fair—
Lo! a pierced and thorn-crowned Sav­ior
Standeth there, stand­eth there.

Could I hear Him if He called me,
Waiting here, wait­ing here?
Would His words of ma­gic sweet­ness
Pierce my ear, pierce my ear?
Could the world with all its lur­ings,
Drown that tone, drown that tone,
And He pass me by and leave me
All alone, all alone?

When thou cri­est in thine ang­uish,
Sav­ior hear, Sav­ior hear!
It will reach Him thro’ the cla­mor,
Never fear, ne­ver fear!
Tho’ some­times thine ears are deaf­ened,
By the din, by the din,
He is list­en­ing for the sum­mons,
Lord, come in, Lord, come in!