William Cowper (1731–1800)

To tell the Saviour 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

        Expos’d 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.