Savior of Men, Our Joy Supreme

Savior of men

our joy su­preme

The heart’s de­sire and pure de­light;

Who by Thy love didst those re­deem

Whom Thou cre­at­ed by Thy might:

What un­known love could Thee con­strain

Our sins

all sin­less

to sus­tain?

And death’s sharp sting to cru­ci­fy

That we might live and nev­er die?

Thou break’st through Cha­os’ old do­main

Unbind’st the pri­soned cap­tive’s band

And with tri­umph­ant state dost reign

In glo­ry on Thy Sire’s right hand.

O for our woes be­nign­ly feel;

Our wounds with gen­tle mer­cy heal;

Our eyes

which long Thy face to see

Glad with the bliss­ful sight of Thee!

Be Thou our heav’n­ward guide and way

Thou of our hearts the aim and goal;

Wipe Thou our tears with joy away

Revive and glad­den Thou the soul!

To Thee

as­cend­ed up to Heav’n

Triumphant Son

be glo­ry giv’n;

And

girt with Heav’n’s ador­ing host

Thee

Sire of all; Thee

Ho­ly Ghost!