When first I heard of Jesus,
It seemed some mystic tale,
A root of barren dryness,
No fragrance could exhale ;
But as I came to know Him,
His precious name grew sweet,
And, like a perfumed rainbow,
Love arched the mercy-seat.

At first, I saw no beauty,-
No captivating spell;
Felt no divine emotion
In my cold bosom swell:
But when, through beams of glory,
God shone in Jesus' face,
All other objects tarnished
Before His matchless grace.

I read that He was wounded,
And bruised upon the tree,
Yet felt no thrilling wonder,
As though He died for me ;
But since, oh, since I know it,
And saw Him bear my load,
I cannot cease from praising
My great redeeming God.

O Rose of rarest odor !
O Lily white and pure !
O chiefest of ten thousand,
Whose glory must endure !
The more I see Thy beauty,
The more I know Thy grace,
The more I long unhindered
To gaze upon Thy face.