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L. M.

The compassion of a dying Christ.


Our spirits join t' adore the Lamb;

O that our feeble lips could move

In strains immortal as his name,

And melting as his dying love!

Was ever equal pity found?

The Prince of heav'n resigns his breath,

And pours his life out on the ground,

To ransom guilty worms from death.

[Rebels, we broke our Maker's laws

He from the threat'nings set us free,

Bore the full vengeance on his cross,

And nailed the curses to the tree.]

[The law proclaims no terror now,

And Sinai's thunder roars no more;

From all his wounds new blessings flow,

A sea of joy without a shore.

Here we have washed our deepest stains,

And healed our wounds with heav'nly blood;

Blest fountain! springing from the veins

Of Jesus, our incarnate God.]

In vain our mortal voices strive

To speak compassion so divine;

Had we a thousand lives to give,

A thousand lives should all be thine.

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