When war on earth sus­pend­ed
His wild ca­reer of woes,
The Prince of Peace des­cend­ed,
A guil­ti­er strife to close;
Vain bat­tles worms were wag­ing—
With their cre­at­or, God;
He came, and wrath as­suag­ing,
Made peace with his own blood.

The storm that flamed and low­ered
Was calm at His com­mand;
The rod of jus­tice flow­ered,
Like Aar­on’s, in His hand:
That scep­ter, love re­veal­ing,
Rebels, ap­proach and kiss;
Its leaves are for your heal­ing,
Its fruits—im­mor­tal bliss.