Happy the birth where grace presides

To form the future life!

In wisdom’s paths the soul she guides,

Remote from noise and strife.

Since I have known the Savior’s name

And what for me he bore;

No more I toil for empty fame,

I thirst for gold no more.

Placed by his hand in this retreat,

I make his love my theme;

And see that all the world calls great,

Is but a waking dream.

Since be has ranked my worthless name

Amongst his favored few;

Let the mad world who scoff at them

Revile and hate me too.

O thou whose voice the dead can raise,

And soften hearts of stone,

And teach the dumb to sing thy praise,

This work is all thine own!

Thy wond’ring saints rejoice to see

A wretch, like me, restored

And point, and say, “How changed is he,

Who once defied the LORD!”

Grace bid me live, and taught my tongue

To aim at notes divine;

And grace accepts my feeble song,

The glory, LORD, be thine!