Oh, wondrous truth! – how could it be
That Christ should condescend
To tabernacle here in flesh,
That He might us befriend ?

Such was our need, and such His love,
That He must man become
If we would His redemption know,
And share His glory-home.

He took the form of sinful man,
Our Substitute to be:
And under our death-sentence died
On Calvary's cursed tree.

Though in the form of sinful man,
Free from the fall was He:
In Him perfection's glory dwelt,
From all pollution free.

Yet on the cross was He made sin;
Our curse by Him was borne.
The enemy had despoiled our race-
Of glory we were shorn.

But, glory to His matchless name,
He brought us vastly more
Than we had lost in Adam's fall-
He did more than restore:

For now are we the sons of God,
Heirs with Himself above;
Bone of His bone, His cherished bride,
Enriched with boundless love.

Oh what a destiny is ours-
What glories shine before!
Linked with the Bridegroom, Lord and King,
Whom worlds on worlds adore.

Oh, how shall we extol His grace,
Or rightly praise His name,
For raising us to such a place,
From depths of sin and shame.
'Tis feeble now, but soon we shall
Join the immortal choir;
And in true worship sing His praise
With tongues that never tire.

C. C. Crowston