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1 How condescending, and how kind
Was God's eternal Son!
Our misery reach'd his heav'nly mind,
And pity brought him down.
2 When justice, by our sins provok'd,
Drew forth hus dreadful sword,
He gave his soul up to the stroke,
Without a murm'ring word.
3 Here we receive repeated seals
Of Jesus' dying love:
Hard is the wretch that never feels
One soft affection move.
4 Here let our hearts begin to melt,
While we his death record,
And, with our joy for pardon'd guilt,
Mourn that we pierc'd the Lord.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | How condescending, and how kind |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1789 |
Topic: | Lord's Supper: The Love of Christ |