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140

HYMN CXXXVII.

8.8.8.8.8.8

James Montgomery

Gifts.--I Cor. xiii.

Could I command with voice or pen

The tongues of Angels and of men,

A tinkling cymbal, sounding brass

My speech and preaching would surpass;

Vain were such eloquence to me

Without the grace of Charity.

Could I the martyr's flame endure,

Give all my goods to feed the poor;

Had I the faith from Alpine steep

To hurl the mountain to the deep,

What were such zeal, such power to me

Without the grace of Charity?

Could I behold with prescient eye

Things future as the things gone by;

Could all earthly knowledge scan,

And mete out heaven with a span,

Poor were the chief of gifts to me

Without the chiefest--Charity.

Charity suffers long, is kind,

Charity bears a humble mind,

Rejoices not when ills befall,

But glories in the weal of all;

She hopes, believes, and envies not,

Nor vaunts, nor murmurs o'er her lot.

The tongues of teachers shall be dumb,

Prophets discern not things to come,

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Knowledge shall vanish out of thought,

And miracles no more be wrought,

But Charity shall never fail,

Her anchor is within the veil.

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