The Triumphs of the Dying Savior

Verse 1

No more, dear Saviour, will I boast Of beauty, wealth, or loud applause: The world has all its glories lost, Amid the triumphs of the cross.

Verse 2

In ev'ry feature of thy face Beauty her fairest charms displays; Truth, wisdom, majesty, and grace Shine thence in sweetly mingled rays.

Verse 3

Thy wealth, the pow’r of thought transcends, ’Tis vast, immense, and all divine: Thy empire, Lord, o’er all extends; The sun, the moon, the stars are thine.

Verse 4

Yet (O how marvelous the sight!) I see thee on a cross expire; Thy Godhead veil'd in sable night; And angels from the scene retire.

Verse 5

But, why from these sad scenes retreat? Why with your wings your faces hide? He ne'er appear'd so good, so great, As when he bow'd his head and died.

Verse 6

The indignation of a God On him avenging justice hurl'd: Beneath the weight he firmly stood, And nobly sav'd a falling world.

Verse 7

These triumphs of stupendous grace Surprise, rejoice, and melt my heart; Lord, at thy cross I stand and gaze, Nor would I ever thence depart!