I Love the Holy Son of God

I love the ho­ly Son of God

Who once this vale of sor­row trod

Who bore my sins

a dread­ful load

Up Cal­va­ry’s gloomy mount­ain.

There on the cross the Sav­ior hung

The sport of many an im­pi­ous tongue

While pain ex­treme His na­ture wrung

And flowed life’s crim­son fount­ain.

The sun would not be­hold the scene

But round Him threw night’s sa­ble screen;

Nature was robed in mourn­ing mien

And sighed when Je­sus suf­fered.

But ah! His per­se­cut­ors stood

Reviling Christ

the Son of God

Unmoved to see His gush­ing blood

And shock­ing in­sults of­fered.

O! why did not His fu­ry burn

And floods of ven­geance on them turn?

Amazing! See

His bow­els yearn

In soft com­pass­ion on them.

No fu­ry kin­dles in His eyes

They beam with love—and when He dies

Fa­ther

for­give

the Suf­fer­er cries

They know not!—O for­give them.

How ar­dent ought my love to be

To Him who’s done so much for me;

My con­stant serv­ice

faith­ful

free—

And all my pow­ers em­ploy­ing.

I should my cross with plea­sure bear

And place my all of glo­ry­ing there

In His re­proach most glad­ly share

In tri­bu­la­tion joy­ing.

And nev­er shall it be con­cealed

He hath to me His love re­vealed

Of all my sins a par­don sealed—

I feel His bless­èd fa­vor.

In Him I do and will re­joice;

I’ll praise Him with a cheer­ful voice

Until the theme my tongue em­ploys

In Heav­en above

for­ev­er.