No common Vision this I see

In more than human majesty!

Who is this mighty Hero, who,

With glorious terror on His brow?

His deep-dyed crimson robes outvie

The blushes of the morning sky:

Lo, how triumphant He appears,

And victory in His visage bears!

How strong, how stately does He go!

Pompous and solemn is His pace,

And full of majesty His face.

Who is this mighty Hero, who?

’Tis I, who to My promise stand:

I, who sin, death, hell, and the grave

Have foil’d with this all-conquering hand:

’Tis I, the Lord, mighty to save.

Why wear’st Thou then this crimson dye;

Say, Thou all-conquering Hero, why?

Why do Thy garments look all red,

Like them that in the wine-fat tread?

The wine-press I alone have trod,

That pond’rous mass I plied alone;

And with Me to assist was none:

A task, worthy the Son of God!

Angels stood trembling at the sight;

Enraged, I put forth all my might,

And down the engine prest; the force

Put frighted Nature out of course;

The blood gush’d out, and chequer’d o’er

My garments with its deepest gore.

With glorious stains bedeck’d I stood,

And writ My victory in blood.

The day, the signal day is come

Vengeance of all My foes to take;

The day, when death shall have its doom,

And the dark kingdom’s powers shall shake.

I look’d, who to assist stood by:

Trembled heaven’s hosts, nor ventured nigh:

Even to My Father did I look

In pain; My Father Me forsook!

Awhile amazed I was to see

None to uphold or comfort Me:

Then I arose in might array’d,

And call’d My fury to My aid;

My single arm the battle won,

And straight the acclaiming hosts above

Hymn’d, in new songs of joy and love,

Jehovah and His conquering Son.