1 Should bounteous nature kindly pour
Her richest gifts on me,
Still, O my God, I should be poor,
If void of love to thee.
2 Not shining wit, nor manly sense,
could make me truly good:
Nor zeal itself could recompense
The want of love to God.
3 Did I possess the gift of tongues,
But were deny'd thy grace,
My loudest words, my loftiest songs
Would be but sounding brass.
4 Though thou shouldst give me heav'nly skill,
Each myst'ry to explain,
If I'd no heart to do thy will,
My knowledge would be vain.
5 Had I so strong a faith, my God,
As mountains to remove,
No faith could do me real good,
That did not work by love.
6 O grant me then this one request,
And I'll be satisfy'd,
That love divine may rule my breast,
And all my actions guide.