O! that I were a voice—a voice whose cry
The troubled heart might calm:
A faithful echo of the voice of old,
That cried, “Behold the Lamb!”
O! to be nothing, of all self bereft,
One theme alone be mine.
I would be but a sound to bear abroad:
No name, dear Lord, but Thine.
I’d stand and gaze on Thee, lost in the path
That Thy dear feet have trod.
And then I’d follow with the joyous shout—
“Behold the Lamb of God!”