John Brownlie (trans.) · 68 of 89

O praise the wisdom of our God

I O praise the wisdom of our God, And all His matchless love extol; Who by the anguish of His rod, Gives healing to the wounded soul.

II He brought me low because of sin, And laid His hand upon me sore; That I might seek by grace to win, His power to save from sinning more.

III He brought me low because His love Was truer than my kindest thought; For He would lift me far above The vanities my soul had sought.

IV And in the darkness I beheld A light my eyes had never seen; And all the strife of sin was quelled, That came my soul and peace between.

V 'Tis good to sink beneath the rod, And taste the bitterness of sin, If thus the matchless love of God, An entrance to the heart may win.

VI O Jesus Christ, to Thee be praise, For Thou wert wounded on the tree;— O may Thy Cross my spirit raise, And lift me ever nearer Thee.