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The Book of Praise.
And when the Powers of Hell combined
To fill His cup of woe, Your pitying eyes beheld His tears
In bloody anguish flow.
As on the torturing Cross He hung,
And darkness veil'd the sky, Ye saw, aghast, that awful sight,
The Lord of Glory die !
Astonish'd, here ye search and learn High Heaven's mysterious ways,
That thus to guilty dying man Immortal life conveys.
Anon He bursts the gates of death,
Subdues the tyrant's power : Ye saw th' illustrious Conqueror rise,
And hailed the blissful hour,
Tended His chariot up the sky,
And bore Him to His Throne ; Then swept your golden harps, and cried
"The glorious work is done !"
My soul the joyful triumph feels,
And thinks the moments long, Ere she her Saviour's glory sees,
And joins your rapturous song.
James Fanch and Daniel Turner, [i 791.1 |
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