The Pre-Christian History of “The Love Of God” Hymn

F. M. Lehman composed the well-known hymn “The Love of God” in 1917. According to a widely circulated account, he heard an evangelist recount a poem allegedly penciled on the wall of an asylum by an unknown inmate. This striking imagery is said to have inspired the third verse of Lehman’s hymn:

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made;
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.¹⁾F.M. Lehman, “The Love of God,” in Soul Stirring Songs & Hymns (ed. Curtis Hutson, John Reynolds), Sword of the Lord Publishers (Murfreesboro, TN: 1972, 1989), 188

Lehman’s hymn is structured around this evocative stanza, to which he later added two additional verses to complete the composition. The imagery is memorable, even extravagant, yet it is not without precedent. If the asylum account preserves a kernel of historical truth, the unknown author was likely drawing upon a much older Jewish tradition.

A particularly close parallel appears in the eleventh-century Aramaic poem Akdamut Milin, composed in Worms, Germany. This acrostic composition unfolds in paired lines, each corresponding to successive letters of the alphabet:

בְּבָבֵי תְּרֵי וּתְלַת דְאֶפְתַּח בְּנַקְשׁוּתָא

To start with two or three stanzas in fear

בְּבָרֵי דְבָרֵי וְטָרֵי עֲדֵי לְקַשִּׁישׁוּתָא

Of God who creates and ever sustains.

גְּבוּרָן עָלְמִין לֵהּ וְלָא סְפֵק פְּרִישׁוּתָא

He has endless might, not to be described

גְּוִיל אִלּוּ רְקִיעֵי קְנֵי כָּל חוּרְשָׁתָא

Were the skies parchment, were all the reeds quills,

דְּיוֹ אִלּוּ יַמֵּי וְכָל מֵי כְנִישׁוּתָא

Were the seas and all waters made of ink,

דָּיְרֵי אַרְעָא סָפְרֵי וְרָשְׁמֵי רַשְׁוָתָא

Were all the world’s inhabitants made scribes.

הֲדַר מָרֵי שְׁמַיָּא וְשַׁלִּיט בְּיַבֶּשְׁתָּא

The glorious Lord of heaven and earth,

הֲקֵים עָלְמָא יְחִידָאי וְכַבְּשֵׁהּ בְּכַבְּשׁוּתָא

Alone, formed the world, veiled in mystery.²⁾ https://www.sefaria.org/Akdamut_Milin.1.3-4?lang=bi

The resemblance to Lehman’s hymn is unmistakable. The poetic device—imagining oceans as ink and the heavens as parchment—serves to emphasize the inexhaustible magnitude of divine truth and glory. Notably, this imagery predates Lehman by centuries and reflects a well-established motif in Jewish literary tradition.

Prior to this medieval expression, similar language appears in the Quran:

“If the sea was ink for the words of my lord, the sea had run out before the words of my lord would run out, even if we brought one like it as an aid.” (18:110)³⁾ Usama Dakdok, The Generous Quran: An Accurate, Modern English Translation of the Qur’an, Islam’s holiest Book, Usama Dakdok Publishing (Venice FL: 2009), p. 177

And again:

“And if all what is in the earth from trees were pens and the sea providing after it seven more seas, the words of Allah would not be exhausted. Surely Allah is dear, wise.” (31:27)⁴⁾ Usama Dakdok, The Generous Quran: An Accurate, Modern English Translation of the Qur’an, Islam’s holiest Book, Usama Dakdok Publishing (Venice FL: 2009), p. 238

The title of this chapter is “Lokman” which  is named after a non-Arabic scribe. This indicates that such phrases did not begin with an Islamic origin, but was lifted by the Muslim from earlier sources.

Indeed, earlier rabbinic literature contains strikingly similar formulations. The fourth-century work Pesikta Rabbati observes:

“Why then were the words of the Scribes not set down? Because if an attempt had been made to set their words in writing there would have been no end of books: Of making many books there would be no end [Eccles. 12:12].” (Pesikta Rabbati, 3:2)⁵⁾Pesikta Rabbati (trans. William G. Braude), Yale University Press (Dallas TX: 1968), Vol. 1, p. 63

Likewise, Song of Songs Rabbah preserves a series of reflections attributed to prominent rabbis:

“R. Eliezer and R. Joshua and R. Akiba made the following observations. R. Eliezer said: If all the seas were ink and all the reeds pens and the heaven and earth scrolls, and all mankind scribes, they would not suffice to write the Torah which I have learnt, and I have abstracted no more from it than a man would take by dipping his pen in the sea. R. Joshua said: If all the seas were ink, and all the reeds pens and the heaven and earth scrolls, and all mankind scribes, they would no suffice to write the Torah which I have learnt, and I have abstracted no more from it than a man would take by dipping the point of his pen in the sea. R. Akiba said: It is not possible for me to say as much as my teachers said, for in fact my teachers did take something from it, while I have taking no more than one who smells a citron: he who smells enjoys it, while the citron loses nothing.” (Song of Songs Rabbah 1.3, § 1)⁶⁾Midrash Rabbah, Soncino Press (New YOrk, NY: 1983), Vol. 9, p. 36-37

These statements are associated with figures such as Rabbi Akiba (A.D. 110–135) and his contemporaries, suggesting that the motif was already well established in the early second century.⁷⁾Hermann L. Strack, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, Atheneum (New York, NY: 1980, originally published 1931 by The Jewish Publication Society of America), p. 112 The names Rabbi Joshua and Rabbi Eliezer were borne by multiple figures within the rabbinic tradition. However, it is most plausible that the individuals intended here are Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus—brother-in-law of Rabban Gamaliel II—and Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah. Both were contemporaries of Rabbi Akiba, and the three are frequently depicted as engaging in disputes with one another.⁸⁾Hermann L. Strack, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, Atheneum (New York, NY: 1980; originally published 1931 by The Jewish Publication Society of America), p. 111 On this basis, the traditions in question may be dated to the first quarter of the second century.

An even earlier tradition appears in the Babylonian Talmud, where Rabbi Johanan ben Zakkai recounts a saying attributed to Hillel:

“It was also related of him that he declared, ‘If all the heavens were sheets, all the trees quills and all the seas ink, they would not suffice for recording my wisdom which I acquired from my masters; and yet I have gained no more of the wisdom of the Sages than a fly [acquires] which dips in the great sea and deprives it of the tiniest drop’.” (Soferim 16:8)⁹⁾ https://www.sefaria.org/Tractate_Soferim.16.8?lang=bi&with=all&lang2=en

If authentic, this tradition reaches back to the first century B.C. Notably, in these earlier expressions, the emphasis often falls upon the vastness of human learning—particularly the Torah—rather than directly upon the attributes of God. Over time, however, the imagery is redirected toward divine magnitude, as seen in later Jewish poetry and Christian hymnody.

This trajectory reaches a profound theological climax in the Gospel of John:

“And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written. Amen.” (John 21:25)

Here, the language is no longer applied to human wisdom but to the works of Christ Himself. Within the high Christology of John’s Gospel, this shift is significant. The immeasurable abundance once attributed to Torah or rabbinic teaching is now grounded in the person and activity of Jesus Christ. In context, the statement refers particularly to His works—especially His miracles—which function as signs confirming His divine identity (John 20:30–31).

A comparable reflection appears in the writings of Philo of Alexandria, who contemplates the vastness of creation:

“And the whole of a man’s life would be too short if he wished to enumerate all the separate instances of such things, or even to detail fully all that is to be seen in one complete portion of the world; aye, if he were to be the most longlived man that has ever been seen.” (Philo, On the Life of Moses, 1.213)¹⁰⁾ The Works of Philo: Complete and Unabridged New Updated Version (trans. C. D. Yonge), Hendrickson Publishers (Peabody, MA: 1997), p. 479

Philo’s observation underscores the inexhaustible complexity of the created order, which, in turn, testifies to the Creator (cf. Romans 1:20). In this respect, the language may transcend mere hyperbole and gesture toward a genuine epistemological limitation: finite minds cannot fully comprehend infinite realities.

This raises an important interpretive question: are such expressions intended as hyperbole, or do they convey a deeper literal truth? The Letter of Aristeas provides a useful point of comparison. In describing the ambitions of the Alexandrian library, it reports:

“On his appointment as keeper of the king’s library, Demetrius of Phalerum undertook many different negotiations aimed at collecting, if possible, all the books in the world. By purchase and translation he brought to a successful conclusion, as far as it lay in his power, the king’s plan. We were present when the question was put to him, “How many thousand books are there (in the royal library)?” His reply was, “Over two hundred thousand, O King. I shall take urgent steps to increase in a short time the total to five hundred thousand. Information has reached me that the lawbooks of the Jews are worth translation and inclusion in your royal library.” (Letter of Aristeas, 9-10)¹¹⁾ he Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (Ed. James H. Charlesworth) Doubleday (New York, NY: 1985), Vol. 2, p. 12

Here, the aspiration to collect “all the books in the world” is clearly hyperbolic, as the context limits the scope to texts deemed worthy of inclusion. By contrast, Philo’s reflections on creation and John’s statement regarding the works of Christ resist such easy categorization.

The Gospels repeatedly attest that Christ performed innumerable miracles among vast multitudes (e.g., Matthew 4:24; 14:14; Mark 1:34; Luke 4:40; John 6:2). These summaries suggest a scale of activity far exceeding what is individually recorded. Moreover, John’s prologue situates Christ as the eternal Word through whom all things were made (John 1:1–3). If this broader theological framework is taken into account, the “works” of Christ are not confined to His earthly ministry but encompass creation itself.

Thus, while the language of John 21:25 may initially appear hyperbolic, it may equally be understood as a theologically grounded assertion of the infinite scope of Christ’s activity. What begins as poetic exaggeration in earlier traditions is, in the Johannine context, transformed into a profound statement about the boundless nature of divine action.

In this light, Lehman’s hymn—far from being a mere sentimental reflection—participates in a long and intellectually rich tradition. Its imagery, inherited and refined across centuries, ultimately finds its fullest expression in the recognition that the works and love of God are, quite literally, beyond all human capacity to exhaust or contain.