O Christ, He is the fountain,

The deep, sweet well of life:

Its living streams I've tasted

Which save from grief and strife.

And to an ocean fullness,

His mercy doth expand;

His grace is all-sufficient

As by His wisdom planned.

O I am my Beloved's.

And my Beloved's mine;

He brings a poor vile sinner

Into His house of wine!

I stand upon His merit;

I know no other stand.

I'm hidden in His presence

And held by His own hand.

The Bride eyes not her garment,

But her dear Bridegroom's face;

I will not gaze at glory.

But on my King of grace:

Not at the crown He giveth,

But on His pierced hand;

The Lamb is all the glory,

And my eternal stand!