William Cowper 8,6,8,6 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. |