God’s Best Gift

Hark! the her­ald angels sing­ing

In the night o’er Ju­dah’s plain;

Messages of mer­cy bring­ing

To a realm of sin and pain.

Glory be to God above you

Peace to mor­tals here be­low;

God the Fa­ther stoops to love you

And His rich­est gift be­stow.

Far above the hosts in glo­ry

Lived and reigned th’eter­nal Son

Praised in rap­tur­ous song and sto­ry

Served as God’s be­lov­èd One;

But ’twas He the Fa­ther gave us—

Gave to weep

to bleed

to die

With His pre­cious blood to save us

And our hearts to sanc­ti­fy.

To achieve the soul’s sal­va­tion

Must the Lord of glo­ry die?

Would no oth­er rich obla­tion

Truth and jus­tice sa­tis­fy?

Could not some less rich obla­tion

Quench the wrath and stay the blow?

No; to pur­chase our sal­va­tion

Blood di­vine must free­ly flow.

On a cross of shame and ang­uish

Must that pre­cious blood be spilt;

There the Son of God must lang­uish

Bleed and die for hu­man guilt.

Yes

though Heav­en bows be­fore Thee

Sinners nailed Thee to the cross;

Ours the shame

but Thine the glo­ry

Ours the gain

but Thine the loss.