Hymn 4-

Isaac Watts

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Christ's dying love; or, Our pardon bought at a dear price.

How condescending and how kind
Was God's eternal Son!
Our misery reached his heav'nly mind,
And pity brought him down.

[When Justice, by our sins provoked,
Drew forth its dreadful sword,
He gave his soul up to the stroke
Without a murm'ring word.]

[He sunk beneath our heavy woes,
To raise us to his throne;
There's ne'er a gift his hand bestows
But cost his heart a groan.]

This was compassion like a God,
That when the Savior knew
The price of pardon was his blood,
His pity ne'er withdrew.

Now, though he reigns exalted high,
His love is still as great;
Well he remembers Calvary,
Nor let his saints forget.

[Here we behold his bowels roll,
As kind as when he died;
And see the sorrows of his soul
Bleed through his wounded side.]

[Here we receive repeated seals
Of Jesus' dying love:
Hard is the wretch that never feels
One soft affection move.]

Here let our hearts begin to melt
While we his death record,
And with our joy for pardoned guilt,
Mourn that we pierced the Lord.

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