Israel in ancient days,

Not only had a view

Of Sinai in a blaze,

But learned the gospel too:

The types and figures were a glass

In which they saw the Savior’s face.

The paschal sacrifice,

And blood–besprinkled door,

Seen with enlightened eyes,

And once applied with pow’r;

Would teach the need of other blood,

To reconcile an angry God.

The Lamb, the Dove, set forth

His perfect innocence,

Whose blood, of matchless worth,

Should be the soul’s defence:

For he who can for sin atone,

Must have no failings of his own.

The scape–goat on his head

The peoples’ trespass bore,

And to the desert led,

Was to be seen no more:

In him, our Surety seemed to say,

“Behold, I bear your sins away.”

Dipped in his fellows’ blood,

The living bird went free,

The type, well understood,

Expressed the sinner’s plea;

Described a guilty soul enlarged,

And by a Savior’s death discharged.

Jesus I love to trace

Throughout the sacred page;

The footsteps of thy grace,

The same in every age!

O grant that I may faithful be

To clearer light, vouchsafed to me.