Friday

My song is love unknown,
My Savior’s love to me;
Love to the loveless shown,
That they might lovely be.
O who am I? That for my sake
My Lord should take frail flesh, and die? 

Sometimes they strew His way,
And His sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the day
Hosannas to their King:
Then “Crucify!” Is all their breath,
And for His death they thirst and cry. 
 
They rise and needs will have
My dear Lord made away;
A murderer they save,
The Prince of life they slay.
Yet cheerful He, to suffering goes,
That He His foes from thence might free. 
 
Here might I stay and sing, 
No story so divine;
Never was love, dear King,
Never was grief like Thine.
This is my Friend, In whose sweet praise
I all my days could gladly spend. 

 

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