Quinquagesima Sunday

Though with tongues of men and angels
I may tell of mighty love.
Like to sounding brass or cymbal
All my eloquence must prove;
I am useless. Lord, to Thee
If I have not Charity.

Though with gifts prophetic searching
Deep into all mysteries;
Though with &ith to hid the mountains
Rise and sink into the seas;
I am nothing, naught can he.
If I have not Charity.

Though my goods to feed the hungry
I may cheerfully resign.
Though my body to be burned,
Lord, in martyrdom be Thine;
Nothing can it profit me,
If I have not Charity.

Charity is meek and lowly.
Puff 'd not up with lofty mind,
Vaunteth not itself, nor envieth,
Suff'reth gently, and is kind;
O my Saviour! fill for me
All my soul with Charity.

Charity, in naught unseemly,
Doth not even seek her own,
Is not easily provoked,
Ill of others thinketh none;
my Saviour! let me be
Ever clothed in Charity.

Loving truth and hating evil.
Bearing whatsoe'er be&ll.
All things hoping, all believing.
Patiently enduring all;
This — so dear, my God, to Thee —
This is blessed Charity.

Tongues may cease, and knowledge vanish.
Prophecies in time decay,
Charity, it never faileth.
It can never pass away;
Though the tongue which taught it die.
Still surviveth Charity.

As in man the ways of childhood
Soon are lost and disappear.
Though the fruits of early training
Grow and ripen year by year;
So, when means of grace shall die,
Grace survives in Charity.

Here, in part, and seen but dimly.
Lord, Thy guiding Hand we trace,
There, as we have known, we'll know Thee,
There shall see Thee face to face;
Where abide the Holy Three,
Chiefest there is Charity.