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Hymn/Song Information


Could I command with voice or pen
The tongues of angels and of men,
A tinkling cymbal, sounding brass
My speech and preaching would surpass;
Vain were such eloquence to me
Without the grace of charity.

Could I the martyr’s flame endure,
Give all my goods to feed the poor;
Had I the faith from Alpine steep
To hurl the mountain to the deep,
What were such zeal, such power to me,
Without the grace of charity?

Could I behold with prescient eye
Things future as the things gone by;
Could I all earthly knowledge scan,
And mete our heaven with a span,
Poor were the chief of gifts to me
Without the chiefest —charity.

Charity suffers long, is kind,
Charity bears a humble mind,
Rejoice not when ills befall,
But glories in the weal of all;
She hopes, believes, and envies not,
Nor vaunts, nor murmers o’er her lot.

The tongues of teachers shall be dumb,
Prophets discern not things to come,
Knowledge shall vanish out of thought,
And miracles no more be wrought,
but charity shall never fail,
Her anchor is within the veil.

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Meter: 8 8 8 8 8 8
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