2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God;
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.
3 See from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet?
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
4 [His dying crimson like a robe
Spreads o'er his body on the tree;
Then am I dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.]
5 Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
Hymn 3:8.
The tree of life.
1 Come let us join a joyful tune
To our exalted Lord,
Ye saints on high around his throne,
And we around his board.
2 While once upon this lower ground
Weary and faint ye stood,
What dear refreshments here ye found
From this immortal food!
3 The tree of life that near the throne
In heaven's high garden grows,
Laden with grace, bends gently down
Its ever-smiling boughs.
4 [Hovering amongst the leaves there stands
The sweet celestial Dove,
And Jesus on the branches hangs
The banner of his love.
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