The Cross

O God, what wondrous love and grace
Are in the Cross where Jesus bled!
The light of truth shines forth in Him,
Scorned though He he, with bowed head.
We joy to view His lowly path
Which through this sin-stained world He trod,
The perfect One, who had no stain,
Whose life delighted Thee, O God.
Sad was His pilgrimage and brief,
Yet thought of others filled its days,
Familiar with the deepest grief,
Unwearied grace His path displays.
But in the Cross-oh, love unknown!-
His heart for others gave its all:
They left Him to His fate alone,
Or gave Him but the bitter gall.
Under Thy wrath, to justice due,
He bore the sin they then displayed;
Though all Thy love He brought to view,
They railed on Him-for them He prayed.
E'en for His murderers He sought
Thy pardon; while He died for them,
In hideous hate they heeded not
How they displayed their heart again.
Meek is the gentle, tender lamb,
And silent in the shearer's power;
So murmured not that lowly Man
When yielded to their cruel " hour."
E'en as a victim to the knife
Goes unresisting to its death,
To slaughter led, the Prince of life
With meekness yielded up His breath.
Under Thy judgment dire and due,
" Forsaken," left to deepest night,
Yet He upheld Thy glory true,
Proclaimed Thee holy, sinless, right.
Yielded to Thee an offering,
Burnt on Thine altar whole and pure,
Glory and rest He did Thee bring,
Firm to obey, strong to endure.
Though for Himself He needed not
Love, yea, or glory bright, to win,
Fain to reverse our wretched lot
He bowed beneath the weight of sin.