O Lord, we know it matters not
How sweet the song may be;
No heart but of the Spirit taught
Makes melody to Thee.
Then teach Thy gathered saints, O Lord,
To worship in Thy fear;
And let Thy grace mold every word
That meets Thy holy ear.
Thou hast by blood made sinners meet
As saints in light, to come
And worship at the mercy-seat,
Before th' eternal throne.
Thy precious name is all we show,
Our only passport, Lord;
And full assurance now we know,
Confiding in Thy Word.
Oh largely give, 'tis all Thy own,
The Spirit's goodly fruit:
Praise, issuing forth in life, alone
Our living Lord can suit.