We sing the praise of him who died

We sing the praise of him who died,

Of him who died upon the cross;

The sinner’s hope let men deride,

For this we count the world but loss.

Inscribed upon the cross we see,

In shining letters, ‘God is love’;

He bears our sins upon the tree;

He brings us mercy from above.

The cross! it takes our guilt away;

It holds the fainting spirit up;

It cheers with hope the gloomy day,

And sweetens every bitter cup;

It makes the coward spirit brave,

And nerves the feeble arm for fight;

It takes the terror from the grave,

And gilds the bed of death with light;

The balm of life, the cure of woe,

The measure and the pledge of love,

The sinner’s refuge here below,

The angels’ theme in heaven above.

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