I love the Lord, who died for me,
I love His grace, di­vine and free;
I love the Scrip­tures, there I read
Christ loved me, and for me did bleed.

I love His tears and suf­fer­ings great,
I love His pre­cious bloody sweat,
I love His blood: were that not spilt,
I could not have been freed from guilt.

I love to hear that He was slain,
I love His ev­ery grief and pain,
I love to me­di­tate by faith
Upon His me­ri­to­ri­ous death.

I love Mount Cal­va­ry, where His love
Stronger than death it­self doth prove;
I love to walk His do­lo­rous way,
I love the grave, where Je­sus lay.

I love His peo­ple and their ways,
I love with them to pray and praise;
I love the Fa­ther, and the Son,
I love the Spi­rit He sent down.

I love to think the time will come
When I shall be with Him at home,
And praise Him in eter­ni­ty:
Then shall my love com­plet­ed be.