It Is Finished, All the Pain

It is fin­ished

all the pain

All the sor­row

all the strain;

Death has freed the Lord of life

From the bur­den of His strife.

It is fin­ished

all the days

Led through ma­ny wea­ry ways;

Now at last His eye­lids close

On the hat­red of His foes.

It is fin­ished

all the love

Deep as His that dwells ab­ove;

Saving oth­ers

all He gave

But Him­self He could not save.

It is fin­ished

Hark! the cry

Uttered in love’s ag­ony

Is the seal

be­low

ab­ove

Of the vic­to­ry of love.