Nature with Open Volume Stands

Nature with op­en vol­ume stands

To spread her mak­er’s praise abroad;

And ev­ery la­bor of His hands

Shows some­thing wor­thy of a God.

But in the grace that res­cued man

His bright­est form of glo­ry shines;

Here

on the cross

’tis fair­est drawn

In pre­cious blood and crim­son lines.

Here His whole name ap­pears com­plete;

Nor wit can guess

nor rea­son prove

Which of the let­ters best is writ

The pow­er

the wis­dom

or the love.

Here I be­hold His in­most heart

Where grace and ven­geance strange­ly join

Piercing His Son with sharp­est smart

To make the pur­chased plea­sures mine.

O! the sweet won­ders of that cross

Where God the Sav­ior loved and died!

Her nob­lest life my spir­it draws

From His dear wounds and bleed­ing side.

I would for­ev­er speak His name

In sounds to mor­tal ears un­known;

With an­gels join to praise the Lamb

And wor­ship at His Fa­ther’s throne.