1 Jesus, and shall it ever be,
A mortal man ashamed of Thee?
Ashamed of Thee whom angels praise,
Whose glory shines thro’ endless days?
Ashamed of Thee, O, sooner far
Let evening blush to own a star;
He sheds the beams of light divine
O’er this poor, bruised, sad soul of mine.

2 Ashamed of Thee, O, just as soon
Let midnight be ashamed of noon;
‘Tis midnight with my soul till He,
Bright Morning Star, bids darkness flee.
Ashamed of Thee, the dearest Friend
On whom my hopes of heav’n depend!
No; when I blush, be this my shame,
That I no more revere His name.

3 Ashamed of Thee! yes, then, I may,
When I’ve no guilt to wash away;
No tear to wipe, no good to crave,
No fears to quell, no soul to save.
Ashamed of Thee! ‘twill never be,
My hopes of heav’n are all in Thee;
And when I come Thy face to see,
O then be not ashamed of me!