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6.6.6.6.8.8.
1 My song is love unknown,
My Saviour’s love to me;
Love to the loveless shown,
That they may lovely be.
O, who am I,
That for my sake,
My Lord should take
Frail flesh and die? :|
2 He came from His blest throne,
Salvation to bestow:
But men made strange, and none
The longed-for Christ would know;
But Oh, my friend!
My Friend indeed,
Who at my need
His life did spend.
3 Sometimes they strew His way,
And His sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the day,
Hosannas to their King.
Then: Crucify!
Is all their breath,
And for His death
They thirst and cry.
4 They rise and needs will have
My dear Lord made a way;
A murderer they save;
The Prince of life they slay.
Yet cheerful He
To suff’ring goes,
That He His foes
From thence might free.
5 In life, no house, no home
My Lord on earth might have;
In death, no friendly tomb
But what a stranger gave.
What may I say?
Heaven was His home;
But mine the tomb
Wherein He lay.
6 Here might I stay and sing,
No story so divine;
Never was love, dear King,
Never was grief like Thine.
This is my Friend,
In whose sweet praise
I all my days
Could gladly spend.
S. Crossman