The Lord of Life did bow His head
In death-a death of shame,
That guilty sinners might be brought
To God through His blest name.

He always did His Father's will,
And sought the good of men;
Love's perfect law did He fulfil,
Though tried again, again.

Though ever active, doing good,
Reviving those that died,
Men's hatred was so fierce, so great-
That, "Crucify!" they cried.

Under God's awful curse and wrath
He hung upon the cross;
Eternal Life-enduring death
As Substitute for us.

No sorrow was so great as His,
No suffering so real-
More pain, more shame, more loneliness,
Impossible to feel.

But, now, all hail, the sorrow's past,
The judgment all is o'er;
Triumphant over all, He rose;
He liveth evermore.

Above He sits at God's right hand,
His people's advocate;
Ever, He lends a listening ear
To those who supplicate.

Worthy, thrice worthy art Thou, Lord,
To have the highest place;
Worthy indeed to be adored
By men of every race.

L. H. F.