O King of Grief! (how strange and true
The name, to Je­sus on­ly due!)
How, Sav­ior, shall I grieve for Thee?
Who in all griefs pre­vent­est me.

Then let me vie with Thee in love,
And try who there shall con­quer­or prove,
Giv’st Thou me wealth? I will re­store
All back un­to Thee by the poor.

Giv’st Thou me hon­or? All shall see
The hon­or doth be­long to Thee:
A bo­som-friend? If false he prove
To Thee, I will tear thence his love.

Thee shall my mu­sic find: each string
Shall have his at­tri­bute to sing;
And ev­ery note ac­cord in Thee,
To prove one God, one har­mo­ny.

Giv’st Thou me know­ledge? It shall still
Search out Thy ways, Thy works, Thy will:
Yea, I will search Thy Book, nor move
Till I have found there­in Thy love.

Thy love I will turn back on Thee:
O my dear Sav­ior, vic­to­ry!
Then for Thy pass­ion, I for that
Will do—alas, I know not what!