The true Mes­si­ah now ap­pears,
The types are all with­drawn:
So fly the sha­dows and the stars
Before the ris­ing dawn.

No smok­ing sweets, nor bleed­ing lambs,
Nor kid, nor bull­ock slain;
Incense and spice of cost­ly names,
Would all be burnt in vain.

Aaron must lay his robes away,
His mi­ter and his vest,
When God Him­self comes down to be
The of­fer­ing and the priest.

He took our mor­tal flesh to show
The won­ders of His love;
For us He paid His life be­low,
And prays for us above.

Fa­ther, He cries, for­give their sins,
For I My­self have died;
And then He shows His op­ened veins
And pleads His wound­ed side.