LOVE Thee, my Saviour? yes I do,
Though cold and weak my love may be;
Yet, Lord, Thou knowest all things well,
Thou knowest the love I bear to Thee.
Jesus, what wondrous grace was Thine,
My sins upon Thyself to take;
To bow Thy guiltless, willing head,
And bleed and suffer for nay sake.
Why did’st Thou die, my dearest Lord?
Why leave Thy glorious home above,
To visit such a world as this?
The cause was love — pure, boundless love.
And can I see Thee on the Cross,
Groaning and bleeding there for me?
And can I hear Thy dying cry,
And not be moved with love to Thee?
Impossible, my precious Lord,
Though hard Thou knowest this heart appears,
Yet give me but one glimpse of Thee,
My wond’ring eyes o’erflow with tears.
Love Thee, my Savior yes I do,
I must, I will Thy name adore,
And only seek for grace each day,
Nay, every hour, to love Thee more.
Why is it Should any ask
The reason of my love to Thee,
This only shall be my reply,
“’Twas Jesus first who loved me.”
Yes, it was Jesus: unto Him
Be all the praise and glory given;
He bled for me, He died for me,
And now He pleads for me in heaven.
Dear Saviour, I am sick of love,
’Tis almost more than I can bear;
Oh! come and take me to Thyself,
Thy glory and Thy joy to share.
There to behold Thee as Thou art—
The fulness of Thy sweetness prove,
Join with the ransomed host on high,
To praise the wonders of Thy love.