“Unto you, believers, he is the preciousness.” 1 Peter 2
Precious, O Son of God, Thou art,
Resting in love the Father’s heart
Ever brings forth for Thee;
Before His works His power employ,
Before He plans, Thou art His joy,
The same eternally!
Precious to Him when here on earth,
The lonely stranger at Thy birth
Thou dost in grace become;
In man’s cold heart no place hast Thou,
Yet unto Thee His angels bow—
The First-begotten One.
And when Thou standest here alone,
Refused by all that is Thine own,
To Him how precious still!
When He, Thy God, no man can see,
The Father is declared by Thee,
Who dost His bosom fill!
And when with the repentant band,
In lowly grace He sees Thee stand,
Bowing to own His claims,
Oh, how His heart delights in Thee!
“Beloved Son,” He claimeth Thee,
And His own joy proclaims!
When in obedience unto death
Thou dost send forth Thy latest breath,
And dost Thy life lay down,
A new delight His heart doth fill,
Thy preciousness increaseth still
And weareth now its crown!
Joy fills the heaven where Thou art,
The oil of gladness is Thy part,
Thy God exalteth Thee;
His full delight its course doth run,
With glory, His beloved Son,
His own hand crowneth Thee!
In Thee forever God doth rest,
Forever with Thee men are blest;
The Lamb their light shall be
In heaven and earth made new again,
Thou, the delight of God and men!
The same eternally!