1 It is finished! glorious word
From thy lips, our suffering Lord!
Words of high, triumphant might,
Ere thy spirit takes its flight.
It is finished! all is o'er;
Pain and scorn oppress no more.
2 Now, no more foreboding dread
Shades the path thy feet must tread;
No more fear, lest in thine hour
Pain should patience overpower;
On the perfect sacrifice
Not a stain of weakness lies.
3 Champion! lay thine armor by;
'Tis thine hour of victory!
All thy toils are now o'erpast;
Thou hast found thy rest at last;
All hath faithfully been done,
And the world's salvation won.