1 Could I, with tongues of Angels speak
With all the eloquence of men!
And not the love of God partake,
All my profession would be vain.
2 I should be like the sounding Brass,
Or like the tinkling of a Bell;
And should I for an Angel pass,
It would not save my soul from Hell.
3 Had I the gifts of prophecy,
And all the mysteries reveal'd,
Yet in my sins I be to die,
Unless my heart with love is fill'd.
4 Had I such faith as could remove
The greatest mountains from their place;
Yet all in vain, till christian love
Is wrought in me, by saving grace.
5 If all my goods the poor to feed,
With my concent was freely giv'n;
But without charity indeed,
I never should be fit for heav'n.
6 My body given for to burn,
To make attonements for my sin--
I should be like a varnish'd urn,
That which hath nought but filth within.
7 O, may that precious gift of God!
True charity, that grace divine--
In all my heart be shed abroad,
And seal me Lord for ever thine.
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