Lost was I and help-less, dam-na-tion de-served,
Ma-jes-tic sweet-ness sits en-throned up-on the Sav-ior's brow;
His head with rad-iant glo-ries crowned, His lips with grace o'er-flow.
No mor-tal can with Him com-pare, a-mong the sons of men;
Fair-er is He than all the fair that fill the heaven-ly train.
He saw me plunged in deep dis-tress, He flew to my re-lief;
For me He bore the shame-ful cross, and car-ried all my grief.
To Him I owe my life and breath, and all the joys I have;
He makes me tri-umph o-ver death, and saves me from the grave.
To heaven, the place of His a-bode, He brings my wea-ry feet;
Shows me the glo-ries of my God, and makes my joys com-plete.
Since from His boun-ty I re-ceive such proofs of love di-vine,
Had I a thou-sand hearts to give, Lord, they should all be Thine.