Christ's Dying Love.

HOW condescending and how kind, Was God's eternal Son! Our mis'ry reach'd his heav'nly mind, And pity brought him down. [When justice, by our sins provok'd, Drew forth its dreadful sword, He gave his soul up to the stroke, Without a murm'ring word.]

This was compassion of our God, For as the Savior knew The price of pardon was his blood, His pity ne'er withdrew.

Now, though he reigns exalted high, His love is still as great: Well he remembers Calvary, Nor let his saints forget.