1 Jesus! and shall it ever be
A mortal man asham'd of thee?
Asham'd of thee, whom angels praise,
Whose glories shine through endless days?

2 Asham'd of Jesus! sooner far
Let evening blush to own a star;
He sheds the beams of light divine
O'er this benighted soul of mine.

3 Asham'd of Jesus? just as soon
Let midnight be asham'd of noon;
'Tis midnight with my soul, till he,
Bright morning-star, bid darkness flee.

4 Asham'd of Jesus! that dear friend
On whom my hopes of heaven depend?
No; when I blush, be this my shame,
That I no more revere his name.

5 Asham'd of Jesus? Yes, I may,
When I've no guilt to wash away,
No tears to wipe, no good to crave,
No fears to quell no soul to save.

6 Till then, (nor is my boasting vain)
Till then, I boast a Saviour slain!
And O, may this my glory be,
That Christ is not asham'd of me!

7 [His institutions would I prize,
Take up my cross, the shame despise;
Dare to defend his noble cause,
And yield obedience to his laws.]