Catherine Winkworth (1829–1878)

I KNOW a Flower so sweet and fair,

There is no earthly blossom

With Sharon’s Rose that may compare;

Fain would I wear

Its Fragrance in my bosom.

It is the True and Living Word,

Whom God Himself hath given

To be our Guide, our Light, our Lord,

In Whom is stored

All hope for earth and Heaven.

Hark! how He saith—Come unto Me,

Ye burdened and sad-hearted;

Granted your heart’s desire shall be,

And pardon free

To mourning Souls imparted.

This is My Body that I give,

For you in Mercy broken;

Whate’er is Mine with it receive,

If ye believe

And keep what I have spoken.

This is My Blood once shed for you,

Ye hearts, now faint and sinking;

Drink of My Cup and find anew

Fresh Strength to do

My Bidding without shrinking.

Ah, Lord, by Thy most bitter Woes

We pray Thee ne’er forsake us;

Since Thou couldst even die for those

Who were Thy foes,

Thy Children deign to make us.

And keep us ever close to Thee;

Give courage to confess Thee

However dark the time may be,

Till safe and free

In Heaven at last we bless Thee.