1 Nature with open volume stands,
To spread her Maker’s praise abroad,
And every labour of his hands,
Shows something worthy of a God.

2 But in the grace that rescued man,
His brightest form of glory shines;
Here on the cross ’tis fairest drawn,
In precious blood, and crimson lines.

3 O the sweet wonders of that cross,
Where God the Saviour loved and died!
Her noblest life my spirit draws
From his dear wounds and bleeding side.

4 I would for ever speak his name,
In sounds to mortal ears unknown;
With angels join to praise the Lamb,
And worship at his Father’s throne.