1 God in heaven hath a treasure,
Riches none may count or tell;
Christ the Son, He loveth well.
God hath here on earth a treasure,
2 God in tongues of fire descending,
With the treasure never ending,
God's own hand the vessel filling
3 Thus though worn, and tried, and tempted,
Glorious calling, saint, is thine;
Let the Lord but find thee emptied,
Living branch in Christ the Vine!
Vessels of the world's despising,
Vessels weak and poor and base,
4 Oh to be but emptier, lowlier,
Mean, unnoticed — and unknown,
Filled with Christ and Christ alone!
Naught of earth to cloud the glory,
Naught of self the light to dim,