There is a foe whose hidden pow'r

The Christian well my fear,

More subtle far than inbred sin,

And to the heart more dear.

It is the pow'r of selfishness,

It is the willful I,

And ere my Lord can live in me,

My very self must die.

There is, like Anak's sons of old,

A race of giants still:

Self-glorying, self-confidence,

Self-seeking and self-will.

Still must these haughty Anakims

By Caleb's sword be slain,

Ere Hebron's heights of heav'nly love,

Our conqu'ring feet can gain.

Oh, save me from self-will, dear Lord,

Which claims Thy sacred throne;

Oh! Let my will be lost in Thine,

And let Thy will be done.

Oh, keep me from self-confidence,

And self-sufficiency;

Let me exchange my strength for Thine,

And lean alone on Thee.

Oh, save me from self-seeking, Lord,

Let me not be my own;

A living sacrifice I come,

Lord, keep me Thine alone.

From proud vain glory save me, Lord,

From pride of praise and fame;

To Christ be all the honor given,

The glory to His name.

Oh, Savior, slay the self in me

By Thy consuming breath;

Show me Thy heart, Thy wounds, Thy shame,

That self be put to death.

When the Shekinah flame came down,

E'en Moses could not stay;

So let Thy glory fill me now,

And self forever slay.