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P. Gerhardt, 1648.

Mrs. Elizabeth Charles, 1848, alt.

Lutheran Hymnary, #301

A Lamb goes uncomplaining forth,

The guilt of all men bearing;

Laden with all the sins of earth,

None else the burden sharing!

Goes patient on, grows weak and faint,

To slaughter led without complaint,

That spotless life to offer;

Bears shame, and stripes, and wounds and death,

Anguish and mockery, and saith,

"Willing all this I suffer."

That Lamb is Lord of death and life,

God over all forever;

The Father's Son, whom to that strife

Love doth for us deliver!

O mighty Love! what hast Thou done!

The Father offers up His Son--

The Son content descendeth!

O Love, O Love! how strong art Thou!

In shroud and grave Thou lay'st Him low

Whose word the mountains rendeth!

Him on the cross, O Love, Thou lay'st,

Fast to that torture nailing,

Him as a spotless Lamb Thou slay'st;

His heart and flesh are failing--

The body with that crimson flood,

That precious tide of noble blood,

The heart with anguish breaking!

O Lamb! what shall I render Thee

For all Thy tender love to me,

Or what return be making?

My lifelong days would I still Thee

Be steadfastly beholding;

Thee ever, as Thou ever me,

With loving arms enfolding,

And when my heart grows faint and chill,

My heart's undying light, O still

Abide unchanged before me!

Myself Thy heritage I sign,

Ransomed to be forever Thine,

My only hope and glory.

I of Thy majesty and grace

Would night and day be singing;

A sacrifice of joy and praise

Myself to Thee still bringing.

My stream of life shall flow to Thee

Its steadfast current ceaselessly

In praise to Thee outpouring;

And all the good Thou dost to me

I'll treasure in my memory,

Deep in my heart's depths storing!

Shrine of my heart, give larger space

For wealth that passeth measure!

Thou must become a royal place

For all-excelling treasure.

Away, world, with thy golden hoard,

And all the glories in thee stored,

My treasure is in heaven;

For I have found true riches now;

My treasure, Christ, my Lord art Thou

Thy blood so freely given!

This treasure ever I employ,

This ever aid shall yield me;

In sorrow it shall be my joy,

In conflict it shall shield me.

In joy, the music of my feast;

And when all else has lost its zest,

This manna still shall feed me;

In thirst my drink, in want my food,

My company in solitude,

To comfort and to lead me!

And when I enter on Thy joys,

With Thee Thy kingdom sharing,

Thyself my robe of triumph, Lord,

Thy blood my right declaring,

Shall place upon my head the crown,

Shall lead me to the Father's throne,

And raiment fit provide me;

Till I, by Him to Thee betrothed,

By Thee in bridal constume clothed,

Stand as a bride beside Thee!

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