147 L. M. He so loved the world. John 3:16.
Not to condemn the sons of men, Did Christ, the Son of God, appear; No weapons in his hands are seen, No flaming sword, nor thunder there.
2 Such was the pity of our God, He loved the race of man so well, He sent his Son to bear our load Of sins, and save our souls from hell.
3 Sinners, believe the Saviour’s word; Trust in his mighty name, and live: A thousand joys his lips afford, His hands a thousand blessings give.
148 C. H. M. His poverty.
As much have I of worldly good As e’er my Master had; I diet on as dainty food, And am as richly clad; Though plain my garb, though scant my hoard, As Mary’s Son and nature’s Lord.
2 The manger was his infant bed, His home the mountain cave; He had not where to lay his head— He borrowed e’en his grave; Earth yielded him no resting-spot; Her Maker, but she knew him not.
3 As much the world’s good-will I share, Its favors and applause, As he whose blessed name I bear, Hated without a cause; Despised, rejected, mocked by pride, Betrayed, forsaken, crucified.
4 Why should I court my Master’s foe? Why should I fear its frown? Why should I seek for rest below? Or sigh for brief renown? A pilgrim to a better land, An heir of joy at God’s right hand.
149 C. M. He went about doing good. Acts 10:38.
Behold, where, in a mortal form, Appears each grace divine; The virtues, all in Jesus met, With mildest radiance shine.
2 To spread the rays of heavenly light, To give the mourner joy, To preach glad tidings to the poor, Was his divine employ.
3 ’Midst keen reproach, and cruel scorn, Patient and meek he stood; His foes, ungrateful, sought his life; He labored for their good.
4 In the last hour of deep distress, Before his Father’s throne, With soul resigned, he bowed, and said, “Thy will, not mine, be done!”
5 Be Christ our pattern and our guide; His image may we bear; O, may we tread his holy steps, His joy and glory share!
150 C. M. The man of sorrows.
A pilgrim through this lonely world, The blessed Saviour passed; A mourner all his life was he, A dying Lamb at last.
2 That tender heart which felt for all, For us its life-blood gave; It found on earth no resting-place, Save only in the grave!
3 Such was our Lord: and shall we fear The cross with all its scorn? Or love a faithless, evil world, That wreathed his brow with thorn?
4 No; facing all its frowns or smiles, Like him, obedient still, We homeward press, through storm or calm, To Zion’s blessed hill.
151 C. M. Mighty to save.
The winds were howling o’er the deep; Each wave a watery hill; The Saviour wakened from his sleep; He spake, and all was still.
2 The madman in a tomb had made His mansion of despair; Woe to the traveler who strayed, With heedless footsteps, there.
3 He met that glance so thrilling sweet, He heard those accents mild; And, melting at Messiah’s feet, Wept like a weanéd child.
4 O, madder than the raving man! O, deafer than the sea! How long the time since Christ began To call in vain to me!
5 Yet could I hear him once again, As I have heard of old, Methinks he should not call in vain His wanderer to the fold.
152 C. P. M. His unsearchable riches.
O could I speak the matchless worth, O could I sound the glories forth, Which in my Saviour shine; I’d soar, and touch the heavenly strings, And vie with Gabriel, while he sings In notes almost divine.
2 I’d sing the precious blood he spilt, My ransom from the dreadful guilt Of sin, and wrath divine; I’d sing his glorious righteousness, In which all-perfect, heavenly dress, My soul shall ever shine.
3 I’d sing the characters he bears, And all the forms of love he wears, Exalted on his throne; In loftiest songs of sweetest praise, I would to everlasting days Make all his glories known.
4 Well, the delightful day will come, When my dear Lord will bring me home, And I shall see his face; Then, with my Saviour, Brother, Friend, A blest eternity I’ll spend, Triumphant in his grace.
153 11s. A bruised reed he shall not break. Matt. 12:20.
To the hall of that feast came the sinful and fair: She heard in the city that Jesus was there: Unheeding the splendor that blazed on the board, She silently knelt at the feet of her Lord!
2 The hair on her forehead, so sad and so meek, Hung dark on the blushes that glowed on her cheek; And so sad and so lowly she knelt in her shame, It seemed that her spirit had fled from her frame.