My painful bed,-for Thou hast died;,
Then point to realms of countless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.
HYMN 131.
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
See! from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
HYMN 132.
When our heads are bowed with woe,
When our bitter tears o'erflow;
When we mourn the lost, the dear,
O Thou gracious Saviour hear.
Thou our sinful flesh hast worn,
Thou our more than griefs hast borne,
Thou hast shed the human tear;
O Thou gracious Saviour hear.
