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HYMN 21

537

C. M.

The triumphal feast for Christ's victory over sin, and death, and hell.

538

[Come, let us lift our voices high,

High as our joys arise,

And join the songs above the sky,

Where pleasure never dies.

Jesus, the God that fought and bled,

And conquered when he fell;

That rose, and at his chariot-wheels

Dragged all the powers of hell.]

[Jesus, the God, invites us here

To this triumphal feast,

And brings immortal blessings down

For each redeemed guest.]

The Lord! how glorious is his face!

How kind his smiles appear!

And O! what melting words he says

To every humble ear!

"For you, the children of my love,

It was for you I died;

Behold my hands, behold my feet,

And look into my side.

"These are the wounds for you I bore,

The tokens of my pains,

When I came down to free your souls

From misery and chains.

["Justice unsheathed its fiery sword,

And plunged it in my heart;

Infinite pangs for you I bore,

And most tormenting smart.

"When hell, and all its spiteful powers,

Stood dreadful in my way,

To rescue those dear lives of yours,

I gave my own away.

"But while I bled, and groaned, and died,

I ruined Satan's throne;

High on my cross I hung, and spied

The monster tumbling down.

"Now you must triumph at my feast,

And taste my flesh, my blood;

And live eternal ages blest,

For 'tis immortal food."

Victorious God! what can we pay

For favors so divine?

We would devote our hearts away

To be for ever thine.]

We give thee, Lord, our highest praise,

The tribute of our tongues;

But themes so infinite as these

Exceed our noblest songs.

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