Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made;
Were every blade of grass a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade:
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.
When hoary time shall pass away
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men who here refuse to pray
On rocks and hills shall loudly call:—
God's love, so sure, shall still endure:
How vast! How full!! How free!!!
His love He gave, lost man to save
For all eternity.