Lord, when my thoughts de­light­ed rove
Amid the won­ders of Thy love,
Sweet hope re­vives my droop­ing heart,
And bids in­trud­ing fears de­part.

But while Thy suf­fer­ings I sur­vey,
And faith en­joys a heav’n­ly ray,
These dear me­mo­ri­als of Thy pain,
Present anew the dread­ful scene.

I hear Thy groans with deep sur­prise,
And view Thy wounds with weep­ing eyes,
Each bleed­ing wound, each dy­ing groan,
With ang­uish fraught, and pains un­known.

For mor­tal crimes a sac­ri­fice,
The Lord of life, the Sav­ior dies:
What love, what mer­cy, how di­vine!
O Je­sus, can I call Thee mine?

Repentant sor­row fills my heart,
But ming­ling joy al­lays the smart;
O may my fu­ture life de­clare
The sor­row and the joy sin­cere.

Be all my heart, and all my days
Devoted to my Sav­ior’s praise;
And let my glad obe­di­ence prove
How much I owe, how much I love.