The Stennetts of England - Joseph Stennett - Hymn Poems

Imortal praise be given

   Imortal praise be given,
   And glory in the high'st,
To th' God of peace, who sent from heaven
   His own beloved Christ:

   Him a sin-offering made
For Adam's guilty sons;
   Our pressing crimes upon him laid,
   For which his blood atones.

   Such torments he endur'd
   As none e'er felt before;
That joy and bliss might be secur'd
   To us for evermore.

   Hurry'd from bar to bar,
With blows and scoffs abus'd
   Revil'd with Herod's men of war,
   With Pilate's scourges bruis'd.

   His sweet and reverend face
With spittle all profan'd;
   That visage, full of heav'nly grace,
   With his own blood distain'd.

   Stretch'd on the cruel tree,
He bled, and groan'd, and cry'd;
   And in a mortal agony
   Languish'd a while, and dy'd.

   But dying left a wound
   On the old serpent's head,
For which no cure can e'er be found;
   And soon rose from the dead:

   Then did to heaven ascend,
That we might thither go,
   Where love and praises have no end,
   Where joys no changes know.

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