When I can sit at Jesus' feet,

When I can sit at Jesus' feet,
And he anoints my head,
Such peace ensues, so calm and sweet,
I think my foes all dead.

My simple heart then fondly dreams,
It will see war no more;
Too firm to shrink my mountain seems,
And every storm blows o'er.

While thus a queen in state I sit,
Self hunts about for praise;
Talks much of frames and victories great,
That you may hear and gaze.

Then Jesus sends a trying hour,
This lurking pride to quell;
My dead foes rise with dreadful power,
And drag me down to hell.

Now faints my heart within me quite,
My mountain disappears;
All grace is vanished from my sight,
And faith seems lost in fears.

At length my Lord, with sweet surprise,
Returns to loose my bands,
Brings kind compassion in his eyes,
And pardon in his hands.

I drop my vile head in the dust,
And at my Lord's feet fall;
His grace is now my song and boast,
And Christ my All in All.