Adored by the Acclaiming Crowd

Adored by the ac­claim­ing crowd

He falls a man

and not a god!

He falls (no soon­er dei­fied

Than smote) a sac­ri­fice to pride

Anticipates the fi­nal hour

And worms their fel­low worm de­vour.

The man who praise from man re­ceives

Nor to his God the glo­ry gives

In him the just re­ward we see

Of sac­ri­le­gious van­ity;

And all which na­ture called her own

We now re­fer to God alone.

But chief­ly

Lord

the gifts of grace

To Thy sole glo­ry we con­fess

Afraid to rob Thee of Thy right

And ar­ro­gate with vain de­light

Or take the hom­age of the throng

Which on­ly doth to Thee be­long.

Whoe’er

like Lu­ci­fer

as­pire

And suf­fer men their grace t’ad­mire

Most hum­bled

when ex­alt­ed most

Of Christ alone we make our boast

And own (if we per­fect­ion name)

Perfection is with Christ the same.