No More, Dear Savior, Will I Boast

No more

dear Sav­ior

will I boast

Of beau­ty

wealth

or loud ap­plause;

The world has all its glo­ries lost

Amid the tri­umphs of Thy cross.

In ev­ery fea­ture of Thy face

Beauty her fair­est charms dis­plays;

Truth

wis­dom

ma­jes­ty

and grace

Shine thence in sweet­ly min­gled rays.

Thy wealth the pow’r of thought trans­cends

’Tis vast

im­mense

and all di­vine;

Thy em­pire

Lord

o’er worlds ex­tends—

The sun

the moon

the stars are Thine.

Yet

oh how mar­vel­ous the sight!

I see Thee on a cross ex­pire;

Thy God­head veiled in sa­ble night;

And an­gels from the scene re­tire.

But

why from these sad scenes re­treat?

Why with your wings your fac­es hide?

He ne’er ap­peared so good

so great

As when he bowed His head and died.

The in­dig­na­tion of a God

On Him av­eng­ing jus­tice hurled:

Beneath the weight He firm­ly stood

And nob­ly saved a fall­ing world.

These tri­umphs of stu­pen­dous grace

Surprise

re­joice

and melt my heart;

Lord

at Thy cross I stand and gaze

Nor would I ev­er thence de­part!