How beauteous were the marks divine,

That in thy meekness used to shine;

That lit thy lonely pathway, trod

In wondrous love, O Son of God!

2 O, who like thee—so calm, so bright,

So pure, so made to live in light?

O, who like thee did ever go

So patient through a world of woe?

3 O, who like thee so humbly bore

The scorn, the scoffs of men, before?

So meek, forgiving, godlike, high,

So glorious in humility?

4 The bending angels stooped to see,

The lisping infant clasp thy knee,

And smile, as in a father’s eye,

Upon thy mild divinity.

5 And death, which sets the prisoner free,

Was pang, and scoff, and scorn to thee;

Yet love through all thy torture glowed,

And mercy with thy life-blood flowed.

6 O, in thy light be mine to go,

Illuming all my way of woe;

And give me ever on the road

To trace thy footsteps, Son of God!