It Is a Thing Most Wonderful

It is a thing most won­der­ful

Almost too won­derful to be

That God’s own Son should come from Heav’n

And die to save a child like me.

And yet I know that it is true;

He chose a poor and hum­ble lot

And wept

and toiled

and mourned

and died

For love of those who loved Him not.

I can­not tell how He could love

A child so weak and full of sin;

His love must be most won­der­ful

If He could die my love to win.

I some­times think about the cross

And shut my eyes

and try to see

The cru­el nails and crown of thorns

And Je­sus cru­ci­fied for me.

But ev­en could I see Him die

I could but see a lit­tle part

Of that great love

which

like a fire

Is al­ways burn­ing in His heart.

It is most won­der­ful to know

His love for me so free and sure;

But ’tis more won­der­ful to see

My love for Him so faint and poor.

And yet I want to love Thee

Lord;

Oh

light the flame with­in my heart

And I will love Thee more and more

Until I see Thee as Thou art.