The Stennetts of England - Joseph Stennett - Hymn Poems
What wond'rous things we now behold,
What wond'rous things we now behold,
At this mysterious board!
What copious matter for a son
Of praises they afford!
Extended on a cross we see
The Lord whom we adore,
Both giving and receiving wounds,
Bath 'd in triumphant gore.
No vistor's robe so rich a dye
Before did ever stain,
No champion such a victory
Before did ever gain.
Glory and ftrength his torments add
To all his mighty deeds;
His enemies fly, and fall the more,
The more he groans and bleeds.
Tho the law's curse lights on his head,
While Satan wounds his heel,
His body's bruis'd by men, his heart
Death's cruel sting does feel;
Yet with firm courage he o'er all
Bears up his conqu'ring head,
Till on their captive necks his feet
In solemn triumph tread.
This shock our Lord sustain'd alone,
But makes us share the spoils;
He felt his father's dreadful frowns,
That we might have his smiles.
To cure our wounds and putrid Cores,
Was pierc'd in every limb;
His cross, Our tree of life, became
A tree of death to him.
But timo once dead, he's now alive,
And lives for evermore
Then let his saints, whole life is hid
In Christ, his name adore.
to: ../HymnsJoseph.html#js91 from: hymns/Joseph91.html 
to: ../tpgindex.html#Josephp from: hymns/Joseph91.html
Website by Allen Harrington
https://blue-hare.com/stennett/hymns/joseph91.html
Copyright © 1950, 2012 Oscar Burdick & 1999-2022 Allen Harrington
Free JavaScripts provided
by The JavaScript Source
