Isaac Watts · 682 of 724

Hymn 4

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.