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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 heaven, 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 would 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; O light the flame within my heart, and I will love thee more and more, until I see thee as thou art. 
LM