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C. M.

Christ's dying love; or, Our pardon bought at a dear price.


How condescending and how kind

Was God's eternal Son!

Our misery reached his heav'nly mind,

And pity brought him down.

[When Justice, by our sins provoked,

Drew forth its dreadful sword,

He gave his soul up to the stroke

Without a murm'ring word.]

[He sunk beneath our heavy woes,

To raise us to his throne;

There's ne'er a gift his hand bestows

But cost his heart a groan.]

This was compassion like a God,

That when the Savior knew

The price of pardon was his blood,

His pity ne'er withdrew.

Now, though he reigns exalted high,

His love is still as great;

Well he remembers Calvary,

Nor let his saints forget.

[Here we behold his bowels roll,

As kind as when he died;

And see the sorrows of his soul

Bleed through his wounded side.]

[Here we receive repeated seals

Of Jesus' dying love:

Hard is the wretch that never feels

One soft affection move.]

Here let our hearts begin to melt

While we his death record,

And with our joy for pardoned guilt,

Mourn that we pierced the Lord.

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