1 Nature with open volume stands
To spread her Maker's praise abroad;
And every labour of his hands
Shews something worthy of a God.

2 But in the grace that rescu'd man
His brightest form of glory shines;
Here on the cross 'tis fairest drawn
In precious blood and crimson lines.

3 [Here his whole name appears complete;
Nor wit can guess, nor reason prove
Which of the letters best is writ,
The power, the wisdom, or the love.]

4 Here I behold his inmost heart
Where grace and vengeance strangely join,
Piercing his Son with sharpest smart
To make the purchas'd pleasure mine.

5 O the sweet wonders of that cross
Where God the Saviour lov'd and dy'd!
Her noblest life my spirit draws
From his dear wounds and bleeding side.

6 I would for ever speak his Name
In sounds to mortal ears unknown,
With angels join to praise the Lamb,
And worship at his Father's throne.