[Music]
I love the holy Son of God,
Who once this vale of sorrows trod,
And bore my sins, a heavy load,
Up Calv'ry's gloomy mountain.
High on the cross he shameful hung,
The sport of many an envious tongue,
While pains severe his nature wrung,
And streamed life's crimson fountain.
Oh, why did not his fury burn,
And floods of vengeance on them turn?
Amazing! See his bowels yearn
In soft compassion on them.
No fury kindles in his eyes;
They beam with love, and when he dies,
Father, forgive, the sufferer cries,
They know not--Oh, forgive them.
No. 141
WORTHY THE LAMB, SWP 92