1 How condescending, and how kind
Was God's eternal Son!
Our misery reach'd his heav'nly mind,
And pity brought him down.

2 When justice, by our sins provok'd,
Drew forth hus dreadful sword,
He gave his soul up to the stroke,
Without a murm'ring word.

3 Here we receive repeated seals
Of Jesus' dying love:
Hard is the wretch that never feels
One soft affection move.

4 Here let our hearts begin to melt,
While we his death record,
And, with our joy for pardon'd guilt,
Mourn that we pierc'd the Lord.