My song is love unknown,
My
Savior’s love to me;
Love
to the loveless shown,
That
they might lovely be.
O
who am I, that for my sake
My
Lord should take frail flesh and die?
2
He
came from His blest throne
Salvation
to bestow;
But
men made strange, and none
The
longed for Christ would know:
But
O! my Friend, my Friend indeed,
Who
at my need His life did spend.
3
Sometimes
they strew His way,
And
His sweet praises sing;
Resounding
all the day
Hosannas
to their King:
Then
“Crucify!” is all their breath,
And
for His death they thirst and cry.
4
Why,
what hath my Lord done?
What
makes this rage and spite?
He
made the lame to run,
He
gave the blind their sight,
Sweet
injuries! Yet they at these
Themselves
displease, and ’gainst Him rise.
5
They
rise and needs will have
My
dear Lord made away;
A
murderer they saved,
The
Prince of life they slay,
Yet
cheerful He to suffering goes,
That
He His foes from thence might free.
6
Here
might I stay and sing,
No
story so divine;
Never
was love, dear King!
Never
was grief like Thine.
This
is my Friend, in Whose sweet praise
I
all my days could gladly spend.