WHEN He, the Lord of glory, came,
Earth’s proud ones spake against His name;
While men of low degree,
In dens of vice where drunkards throng,
Made Him the theme of ribald song
And jest in revelry.
When He, the Saviour of mankind,
Appears, His poor lost sheep to find,
And claim me for His own;
His beauty quite transports my gaze,
Words are too mean to tell His praise,
That wholly lovely One!
What says the Father of the Son?
“My well-beloved, My only One,
In whom is My delight;
My servant, Mine elect is He,
Extolled, exalted He shall be,
In glory none so bright.”