Hymn 47 The hidden life.

8,6,8,6

The hidden life.

To tell the Savior all my wants,

How pleasing is the task?

Nor less to praise him when he grants

Beyond what I can ask.

My lab'ring spirit vainly seeks

To tell but half the joy;

With how much tenderness he speaks,

And helps me to reply.

Nor were it wise, nor should I choose

Such secrets to declare;

Like precious wines their taste they lose

Exposed to open air.

But this with boldness I proclaim,

Nor care if thousands hear;

Sweet is the ointment of his name,

Not life is half so dear.

And can you frown, my former friends,

Who knew what once I was;

And blame the song that thus commends

The man who bore the cross.

Trust me, I draw the likeness true,

And not as fancy paints,

Such honor may he give to you,

For such have all his saints.