Ah, who the worth of God’s dear Son can tell,
His greatness measure, or rehearse His ways?
Not angel hosts, though they in might excel,
And ever on His holy presence gaze;
How then can sinful man endure the blaze
Of His effulgence, and His worth record?
The Spirit only can show forth the praise
And boundless glories of the blessed Lord,
Jehovah’s fellow, Son, the Eternal Life, and Word.
Incarnate Word! With Him was grace and truth;
The path in which He trod was holy ground;
Unmingled grace He showed to age and youth;
And, oh! what blessings did He shed around,
Wherever want and wretchedness were found;
The sick He healed, the mourner’s tears He
dried,
And never on a broken spirit frowned;
Each troubled soul in Him might well confide,
For in His bosom flowed deep love’s
exhaustless tide.
The grave received, but Him could not retain;
The Holy One could no corruption see;
Himself the life, He quickly rose again;
Death’s conqueror, He set the captives free,
Of death and hades holding each the key;
To God’s right hand exalted on the throne;
To Him all creatures soon shall bow the knee,
The universe His power and greatness own,
And every tongue confess that He is Lord alone.
W. Trotter
The Apostle John