In the heart of London city,
‘Mid the dwellings of the poor,
These bright golden words were uttered,—
“I have Christ! what want I more?”
By a lonely dying woman,
Stretched upon a garret floor,
Having not one earthly comfort,—
“I have Christ! what want I more?”
He who heard them ran to fetch her
Something from this world’s great store;
It was needless—died she, saying,
“I have Christ! what want I more?”
But her words will live for ever;
I repeat them o’er and o’er,
God delights to hear me saying
“I have Christ! what want I more?”
Oh, my dear, my fellow sinners
High and low, and rich and poor;
Can you say with deep thanksgiving,
“I have Christ! what want I more?”
Look away from earth’s attractions,
All earth’s joys will soon be o’er
Rest not, till each heart exclaimeth,
“I have Christ! What want I more?”