He came, the Son of God,
Into a cruel, heartless world,
To tell the story, then untold,
Of God’s unfathomed love.
He came, and men stood by
To hurl upon Him dire contempt,
To spurn the truth that God had sent,
And listen to a lie.
He came, the Christ of God,
And shouting multitudes reviled;
He heeded not their tumults wild,
His feet with peace were shod.
He came, and walked apart
Midst scenes of wickedness and woe,
To teach some empty hearts to know
The fullness of God’s heart.
He came, and in the light
Of God’s own face, He trod this scene,
To leave behind, where He had been,
A line of heavenly light.
Oh, wondrous tale of love!
For us He bore the wrath of God,
For us He passed through death’s dark flood—
The deepest proof of love.
And, risen from the dead,
He made a home for us on high;
Unveiled the glory to our eye,
Which lights the path we tread.
And still He waits up there,
To gather in the vile, the lost;
To bring them home, though tempest-tossed,
Where love casts out all fear.
He lives, and so we live,
To find His joy fulfilled in us’;
To learn His path of shame and loss,
Which He alone can give.
But, oh, what untold joy,
That He, whom men despise and scorn,
Will usher in an endless morn
With glory on His brow!
The bright and morning star
Which gilds with light our pathway here,
Will be outshone by daylight there,
Which clouds can never mar.
And walking in the light
Of God’s own face for evermore,
We’ll praise, and worship, and adore
The Son of God’s delight.
C. A. W.