Behold the Son of man
At God’s right hand on high,
‘Tis by that glorious risen One,
We are to God made nigh.
Ah! see His hands and feet,
His wounded side behold,
From thence for us on Calvary’s cross,
The blood once freely flowed.
What matchless, wondrous grace,
That God’s beloved Son
Should stoop so low, and bear the cross,
For sinners lost, undone.
But O! what boundless joy!
His grief and shame are o’er;
God’s glorified, exalted Son
All heaven doth now adore.
Nor is He there alone,
The people to Him given,
Raised up and quickened with their Head,
Have now their place in heaven.
In spirit there with Him,
We rest in that bright home,
In patience waiting for that day,
When Christ our Lord will come.
Then we shall see His face,
And bear His image bright,
And cast our crowns before His feet
With rapture and delight.