Go, wor­ship at Im­ma­nu­el’s feet,
See in His face what won­ders meet!
Earth is too nar­row to ex­press
His worth, His glo­ry, or His grace.

The whole cre­ation can af­ford
But some faint sha­dows of my Lord;
Nature, to make His beau­ties known,
Must min­gle colors not her own.

Is He com­pared to wine or bread?
Dear Lord! our souls would thus be fed:
That flesh, that dy­ing blood of Thine,
Is bread of life, is heav’n­ly wine.

Is He a tree? The world re­ceives
Salvation from His heal­ing leaves:
That right­eous branch, that fruit­ful bough,
Is Da­vid’s root and off­spring, too.

Is He a rose? Not Sha­ron yields
Such frag­ran­cy in all her fields:
Or if the li­ly He as­sume,
The val­leys bless the rich per­fume.

Is He a vine? His heav’n­ly root
Supplies the boughs with life and fruit:
O let a last­ing un­ion join
My soul the branch to Christ the vine!

Is He a head? Each mem­ber lives,
And owns the vi­tal pow­ers He gives;
The saints be­low and saints above,
Joined by His Spi­rit and His love.

Is He a foun­tain? There I bathe,
And heal the plague of sin and death:
These wa­ters all my soul re­new,
And cleanse my spot­ted gar­ments, too.

Is He a fire? He’ll purge my dross;
But the true gold sus­tains no loss:
Like a re­fin­er shall He sit,
And tread the re­fuse with His feet.

Is He a rock? How firm He proves!
The Rock of Ag­es ne­ver moves;
Yet the sweet streams that from Him flow
Attend us all the de­sert through.

Is He a way? He leads to God,
The path is drawn in lines of blood;
There would I walk with hope and zeal,
Till I ar­rive at Sion’s hill.

Is He a door? I’ll en­ter in:
Behold the pas­tures large and green;
A pa­ra­dise di­vine­ly fair,
None but the sheep have free­dom there.

Is He de­signed the cor­ner-stone,
For men to build their Heav’n up­on?
I’ll make Him my foun­da­tion, too,
Nor fear the plots of hell be­low.

Is He a tem­ple? I adore
Th’indwell­ing ma­jes­ty and pow­er;
And still to His most ho­ly place,
Whene’er I pray, I turn my face.

Is He a star? He breaks the night,
Piercing the shades with dawn­ing light;
I know His glo­ries from afar,
I know the bright, the morn­ing star.

Is He a sun? His beams are grace,
His course is joy and right­eous­ness;
Nations re­joice when He ap­pears
To chase their clouds, and dry their tears.

O let me climb those high­er skies,
Where storms and dark­ness ne­ver rise!
There He dis­plays His pow­ers abroad,
And shines and reigns th’in­car­nate God.

Nor earth, nor seas, nor sun, nor stars,
Nor Heav’n His full re­sem­blance bears;
His beau­ties we can ne­ver trace
Till we be­hold Him face to face.