Son of God

[Hazelelponi]

I love the holy Son of God

I love the holy Son of God,
Who once this vale of sorrow trod,
And bore my sins, a heavy load,
On Calvary’s gloomy mountain.

High on the cross He shameful hung, The sport of many an envious tongue, While pain severe His nature wrung, And streamed life’s crimson fountain.

The sun would not behold the scene, around was thrown night’s sable screen; Nature was dressed in mournful mien, And sighed when Jesus suffered.

But ah! His persecutors stood, that cruel and malicious brood, Unmoved to see His gushing blood,
And shocking insults offered.

Say why did not His anger burn,
And floods of vengeance on them turn? Amazing! Now, His bowels yearn in soft compassion o'er them.

No fury kindles in His eyes,
They beam with love—and when He dies, "Father, forgive," the Sufferer cries, and makes excuses for them.

How ardent ought my love to be
to Him who’s done so much for me;
My faithful service, constant, free—
And all my powers employing.

8 I ought His cross with pleasure bear, And place my all of glorying there, In His reproach most gladly share, In tribulation joying.

Oh never shall it be concealed,
He hath to me His love revealed,
Of all my sins a pardon sealed—
I feel His blessèd favor.

In Him I do and will rejoice;
I’ll praise Him with a cheerful voice,
Until the theme my tongue employs
In Heaven above, forever.



Merry Christmas.