(On a lamb for the slaughter, as seen by a child.)
SEE, that helpless lamb is lying,
Doomed to feel the slaughterer’s knife!
Soon it will be bleeding, dying,
End in pain its harmless life.
See, its gentle head it raises,
Turns on you its timid eye;
Yet its seeks not pitying gazes,
Knows not what it is to die.
Ah! my child, I turn with wonder
To the story of the cross,
Where the Lamb of God bowed under
All the wrath deserved by us.
Like a lamb, in meek submission,
He was to the slaughter led;
God, to meet our lost condition,
Bruised and smote Him in our stead
He who ne’er by sin was tainted,
Could not have deserved to die;
Yet in love His soul consented.
Justice thus to satisfy.
All its bitterness foreknowing,
Meekly did He take the cup;
Sinful man no pity showing,
While for man He drank it up.
Oh! my child, believe this story,
Hear not of His love in vain;
Then you’ll be with Him in glory,
With the Lamb that once was slain.