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Hymn 47

William Cowper


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.

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