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 fulness,
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!