Classic Poem

Jesus, my Lord! how rich thy grace!
Thy bounties how complete!
How shall I count the matchless sum?
How pay the mighty debt?

High on a throne of radiant light,
Dost thou exalted shine;
What can my poverty bestow,
When all the worlds are thine?

But thou hast brethren here below,
The partners of thy grace;
And wilt confess their humble names,
Before thy Father's face.

In them thou may'st be cloth'd and fed,
And visited and cheer'd;
And in their accents of distress,
My Savior's voice is heard.

Thy face, with rev'rence and with love,
We in thy poor would see;
Oh! let us rather beg our bread,
Than keep it back from thee.