IT passes knowledge, that dear love of Thine, My Saviour, Jesus; yet this soul of mine Would of Thy love, in all its breadth and length, Its height and depth, its everlasting strength, Know more and more.
It passes telling, that dear love of Thine, My Saviour, Jesus; yet these lips of mine Would fain proclaim to sinners, far and near, A love which can remove all guilty fear, And love beget.
It passes praises, that dear love of Thine, My Saviour, Jesus; yet this heart of mine Would sing that love, so full, so rich, so free, Which brings a rebel sinner, such as me, Nigh unto God.
But, though I cannot sing, or tell, or know The fulness of Thy love, while here below, My empty vessel I may freely bring: O Thou, Who art of love the living Spring, My vessel fill.
O, fill me, Jesus, Saviour, with Thy love; Lead, lead me to the living Fount above; And there may I, in simple faith, draw nigh, And never to another fountain fly, But unto Thee.
And when my Saviour face to face I see, When at His lofty throne I bow the knee, Then of His love, in all its breadth and length, Its height and depth, its everlasting strength, My soul shall sing.
Mary Shekleton, 1827-83