It passeth knowledge, that dear love of thine,
My Jesus! Saviour! Yet this soul of mine
Would of that love in all its depth and length,
Its height and breadth and everlasting strength,
Know more and more.
It passeth telling, that dear love of thine,
My Jesus! Saviour! yet these lips of mine
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 thine,
My Jesus! Saviour! yet this heart of mine
Would sing a love so rich, so full, so free,
Which brought an undone sinner, such as me,
Right home to God.
But ah! I cannot tell, or sing, or know,
The fulness of that love whilst here below,
Yet my poor vessel I may freely bring;
O thou who art of love the living spring,
My vessel fill.
I _am_ an empty vessel! scarce one thought
Or look of love to thee I've ever brought;
Yet, I may come and come again to thee
With this--the contrite sinner's truthful plea--
"_Thou lovest me!_"
Oh! _fill_ me, Jesus! Saviour! with thy love!
My woes but drive me to the fount above:
Thither may I in childlike faith draw nigh,
And never to another fountain fly
But unto thee!
And when, my Jesus, thy dear face I see,
When at that lofty throne I bend the knee,
Then of thy love--in all its breadth and length,
Its height and depth, and everlasting strength--
My soul shall sing.
--Mary Shekelnot.