His Death


Come, children, and learn of the infinite grace
Of Jesus, in coming to die;
He left His bright throne, that all-glorious place,
His beautiful home in the sky. 

O! think of the Lamb, who on Calvary died,
And died for such sinners as we;
The thorns on His brow, and the spear in His side,
When He suffered and bled on the tree.

Ah! never was sorrow so bitter as this,
The anguish He suffered below;
The dear Son of God had done nothing amiss;
For others He tasted such woe.

O! think of His love, when He gave up His life
For sinners so guilty as we;
’Twas for them He finished the conflict and strife;
’Twas for them He bled on the tree.

Dear little ones, think, is it nothing to you,
The tale of His wonderful grace?
He’ll come in the clouds; will you joyfully view,
Or tremble to look on His face?

O may you be led to the Saviour who died,
And died for such sinners as we;
Find shelter from wrath in His once riven side,
Find health in His wounds on the tree.