CCLXXV. The Gospel Treasure in earthen Vessels

HOW rich thy Bounty, King of Kings!
Thy Favours how divine!
The Blessings which thy Gospel brings,
How splendidly they shine!

Gold is but Dross, and Gems but Toys,
Should Gold and Gems compare;
How mean, when set against those Joys,
Thy poorest Servants share?

Yet all these Treasures of thy Grace
Are lodg'd in Urns of Clay;
And the weak Sons of mortal Race
Th' immortal Gifts convey.

Feebly they lisp thy Glories forth;
Yet Grace the Vict'ry gives:
Quickly they moulder back to Earth;
Yet still thy Gospel lives.

Such Wonders Pow'r divine effects;
Such Trophies GOD can raise;
His Hand from crumbling Dust erects,
Long Monuments of Praise.