A long time I wandered in darkness and sin,
And wondered if ever the light would shine in;
I heard Christian friends speak of raptures divine,
And I wished—how I wished—that their Savior were mine.
I wished He were mine, yes, I wished He were mine;
I wished—how I wished—that their Savior were mine.

I heard the glad Gospel of “good will to men”;
I read “whosoever” again and again;
I said to my soul, “Can that promise be thine?”
And then began hoping that Jesus was mine.
I hoped He was mine, yes, I hoped He was mine,
And then began hoping that Jesus was mine.

Oh, mercy surprising! He saves even me!
“Thy portion forever,” He says, “will I be”;
On His Word I am resting—assurance divine:
I am “hoping” no longer, I know He is mine.
I know He is mine, yes, I know He is mine,
I’m hoping no longer—I know He is mine.

I lift my heart to Thee, Savior divine;
For Thou art all to me, and I am Thine;
Is there on earth a closer bond than this,
That my Belovèd’s mine, and I am His?

Thine am I by all ties; but chiefly Thine,
That through Thy sacrifice Thou, Lord, art mine.
By thine own cords of love, so sweetly wound,
Around me, I to Thee am closely bound.

To Thee, Thou bleeding Lamb, I all things owe—
All that I have, and am, and all I know.
All that I have is now no longer mine,
And I am not mine own; Lord, I am Thine.

How can I, Lord, withhold life’s brightest hour
From Thee; or gathered gold, or any power?
Why should I keep one precious thing from Thee;
When Thou hast giv’n Thine own dear self for me?

I pray Thee, Savior, keep me in Thy love,
Until death’s holy sleep shall me remove
To that fair realm where, sin and sorrow o’er,
Thou and Thine own are one forevermore.

O Lamb of God, whose love divine
Draws virgin souls to follow Thee;
And bids them earthly joys resign
If so they may Thy beauty see;

The saint of whom we sing today
Was faithful to Thy loving call,
And, casting other hopes away,
Took Thee to be her God, her all.

To Thee she yielded up her will,
Her heart was drawn to Thine above;
Content if Thou wouldst deign to fill
Thine handmaid with Thy perfect love.

Beneath Thy cross she loved to stand,
Like Mary in Thy dying hour,
That blessings from Thy piercèd hand
Might clothe her with undying power;

With power to win the crown of light
For virgin souls laid up on high,
And ready keep her lamp at night
To hail the Bridegroom drawing nigh.

And surely Thou at last didst come
To end the sorrows of Thy bride,
And bear her to Thy peaceful home
With Thee for ever to abide.

All glory, Jesu, for the grace
That drew Thy saint to follow Thee;
Grant us too in Thy love a place
Both now and through eternity.

’Tis night—but O the joyful morn
Will soon our waiting spirits cheer;
Yon gleams of coming glory warn
Thy saints, O Lord, that Thou art near.

Lord of our hearts, beloved of Thee,
Weary of earth, we sigh to rest,
Supremely happy, safe and free,
For ever on Thy tender breast.

To see Thee, love Thee, feel Thee near,
Nor dread, as now, Thy transient stay;
To dwell beyond the reach of fear
Lest joy should wane or pass away.

Children of hope, belovèd Lord!
In Thee we live, we glory now;
Our joy, our rest, our great reward,
Our diadem of beauty, Thou!

And when exalted, Lord, with Thee,
Thy royal throne at length we share;
To everlasting Thou shalt be
Our diadem, our glory there!