It passeth knowledge, that dear love of Thine,
My Jesus, Saviour; yet this soul of mine strength,
Would of Thy love, in all its breadth and length,
Its height and depth, its everlasting
Know more and more.
It passeth telling, that dear love of mine
My Jesus, Saviour; yet these lips of
Would fain proclaim to sinners far and near
A love which can remove all guilty fear,
And love beget.
It passeth praises, that dear love of mine
My Jesus, Saviour; yet this heart of me,
Would sing that love, so full, so rich, so free,
Which brings a rebel sinner, such as
Nigh unto God.
But though I cannot sing, or tell, or know
The fulness of Thy love, while here below,
My empty vessel I may freely bring:
O Thou, who art of love the living spring,
My vessel fill.
I am an empty vessel — not one thought,
Or look of love, I ever to Thee brought;
Yet I may come, and come again to plea—
With this, the empty sinner's only
Thou lovest me.
Oh, fill me, Jesus, Saviour, with Thy love!
Lead, lead me to the living fount above;
Thither may I, in simple faith, draw nigh,
And never to another fountain fly,
But unto Thee.
And when my Jesus face to face I see,
When at His lofty throne I bow the knee,
Then of His love, in all its breadth and length,
Its height and depth, its everlasting strength,
My soul shall sing,