1 Nature with open volume stands To spread her Maker's praise abroad; And every labour of his hands Shews something worthy of a God.
2 But in the grace that rescu'd man His brightest form of glory shines; Here on the cross 'tis fairest drawn In precious blood and crimson lines.
3 [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.]
4 Here I behold his inmost heart Where grace and vengeance strangely join, Piercing his Son with sharpest smart To make the purchas'd pleasure mine.
5 O the sweet wonders of that cross Where God the Saviour lov'd and dy'd! Her noblest life my spirit draws From his dear wounds and bleeding side.
6 I would for ever speak his Name In sounds to mortal ears unknown, With angels join to praise the Lamb, And worship at his Father's throne.