My Song shall be of him who dy’d
Upon the Mount of Calvary;
His Name, his blood,and Nought beside
Shall be my Theme eternally.

I view him in his infant Form,
Poor, helpless, in a Manger laid;
To rescue me, a worthless Worm,
Th’ eternal Word my Flesh was made.

At eight Days old the Saviour bled;
To purge our Filth his Blood was spilt;
Thus all the Members, in the Head,
Were purg’d from their parental Guilt.

A Man of Sorrows was my Lord,
Tempted like me in ev’ry Point;
That he true Succour might afford
To tempted Souls, who else would faint.

Despis’d and friendless was the lamb,
Abased to a low Degree,
Refus’d by all with Scorn and Shame,
That he our faithful Friedn might be.

Mark how he loves his Blood-bought Friends!
When in his greatest Agony
He pleads for them, he them defends,
The’re as the Apple of his Eye.

For when the Multitude came on
To drag him to the cursed Tree;
Whom seek ye? (says the holy One)
If me you seek, the Children free.

When thus accepted, in our Stead,
Justice the Sinner did release;
And for the Members smote the Head,
Chastis’d him for our Breach of Peace.