When this pass­ing world is done,
When has sunk yon glar­ing sun,
When we stand with Christ in glo­ry,
Looking o’er life’s fin­ished sto­ry,
Then, Lord, shall I ful­ly know—
Not till then—how much I owe.

When I hear the wick­ed call,
On the rocks and hills to fall,
When I see them start and shrink
On the fie­ry del­uge brink,
Then, Lord, shall I ful­ly know—
Not till then—how much I owe.

When I stand be­fore the throne,
Dressed in beau­ty not my own,
When I see Thee as Thou art,
Love Thee with un­sin­ning heart,
Then Lord, shall I ful­ly know—
Not till then—how much I owe.

When the praise of Heav’n I hear,
Loud as thun­ders to the ear,
Loud as ma­ny wa­ters’ noise,
Sweet as harp’s me­lo­di­ous voice,
Then, Lord, shall I ful­ly know—
Not till then—how much I owe.

Even on earth, as through a glass
Darkly, let Thy glo­ry pass,
Make for­giv­eness feel so sweet,
Make Thy Spi­rit’s help so meet,
Even on earth, Lord, make me know
Something of how much I owe.

Chosen not for good in me,
Wakened up from wrath to flee,
Hidden in the Sav­ior’s side,
By the Spi­rit sanc­ti­fied,
Teach me, Lord, on earth to show,
By my love, how much I owe.

Oft I walk be­neath the cloud,
Dark, as mid­night’s gloomy shroud;
But, when fear is at the height,
Jesus comes, and all is light;
Blessed Je­sus! bid me show
Doubting saints how much I owe.

When in flow­ery paths I tread,
Oft by sin I’m cap­tive led;
Oft I fall—but still arise—
The Spi­rit comes—the tempt­er flies;
Blessed Spi­rit! bid me show
Weary sin­ners all I owe.

Oft the nights of sor­row reign—
Weeping, sick­ness, sigh­ing, pain;
But a night Thine an­ger burns—
Morning comes and joy re­turns;
God of com­forts! bid me show
To Thy poor, how much I owe.