Zeal is that pure and heav’n­ly flame,
The fire of love sup­plies;
While that which oft­en bears the name,
Is self in a dis­guise.

True zeal is mer­ci­ful and mild,
Can pi­ty and for­bear;
The false is head­strong, fierce and wild,
And breathes re­venge and war.

While zeal for truth the Chris­tian warms,
He knows the worth of peace;
But self con­tends for names and forms,
Its par­ty to in­crease.

Zeal has at­tained its high­est aim,
Its end is sa­tis­fied;
If sin­ners love the Sav­ior’s name,
Nor seek it aught be­side.

But self, how­ev­er well em­ployed,
Has its own ends in view;
And says, as boast­ing Je­hu cried,
Come, see what I can do.

Self may its poor re­ward ob­tain,
And be ap­plaud­ed here;
But zeal the best ap­plause will gain,
When Je­sus shall ap­pear.

Dear Lord, the id­ol self de­throne,
And from our hearts re­move;
And let no zeal by us be shown,
But that which springs from love.