No more, dear Savior, will I boast
Of beauty, wealth, or loud applause,
The world has all its glories lost,
Amid the triumphs of the cross. In every feature of Thy face
Beauty her fairest charms displays;
Truth, wisdom, majesty, and grace,
Shine thence in sweetly mingled rays. Thy wealth the pow’r of thought transcends,
’Tis vast, immense, and all divine;
Thy empire, Lord, o’er all extends—
The sun, the moon, the stars are Thine. Yet, oh how marvelous the sight!
I see Thee on a cross expire;
Thy Godhead veiled in sable night,
And angels from the scene retire. |
