From the Cross the Blood Is Falling

From the cross the blood is fall­ing

And to us a voice is call­ing

Like a trum­pet sil­ver-clear.

’Tis the voice an­nounc­ing par­don

It is fin­ished is its bur­den

Pardon to the far and near.

Peace that pre­cious blood is seal­ing

All our wounds for ev­er heal­ing

And re­mov­ing ev­ery load;

Words of peace that voice has spok­en

Peace that shall no more be brok­en

Peace be­tween the soul and God.

Love its full­ness there un­fold­ing

Stand we here in joy be­hold­ing

To the ex­iled sons of men;

Love the glad­ness past all nam­ing

Of an op­en Heav­en pro­claim­ing

Love that bids us en­ter in.

God is love—we read the writ­ing

Traced so deep­ly in the smit­ing

Of the glo­ri­ous Sure­ty there.

God is light—we see it beam­ing

Like a heav­en­ly day­spring gleam­ing

So di­vine­ly sweet and fair.

Cross of shame

yet tree of glo­ry

Round thee winds the one great sto­ry

Of this ev­er-chang­ing earth;

Center of the true and ho­ly

Grave of hu­man sin and fol­ly

Womb of na­ture’s se­cond birth.