Behold, where in a mor­tal form
Appears each grace di­vine!
The vir­tues, all in Je­sus met,
With mild­est ra­di­ance shine.

The larg­est love of hu­man kind
Inspired His god­like breast;
In deeds of mer­cy, words of peace,
His kind­ness as ex­pressed.

To spread the rays of heav’n­ly light,
To give the mourn­er joy,
To preach glad tid­ings to the poor,
Was His di­vine em­ploy.

Lowly in heart, to all His friends
A friend and ser­vant found,
He ashed their feet, He wiped their tears,
And heal­ed each bleed­ing wound.

’Midst keen re­proach and cru­el scorn,
He meek and pa­tient stood.
His foes, un­grate­ful, sought His life;
He la­bored for their good.

To God He left His right­eous cause,
And still His task pur­sued,
While hum­ble pray­er, and ho­ly faith,
His faint­ing strength re­newed.

At last, in hour of deep dis­tress,
Before His Fa­ther’s throne,
With soul re­signed He bowed, and said,
Thy will, not Mine, be done!

Be Christ our pat­tern and our guide!
His im­age may we bear!
O may we tread His ho­ly steps,
His joys and glo­ry share!