The Savior Comes, No Outward Pomp

The Sav­ior comes

no out­ward pomp

Bespeaks His pre­sence nigh;

No earth­ly beau­ty shines in Him

To draw the car­nal eye.

All beau­ty may we ev­er see

In God’s be­lov­èd Son

The chief­est of ten thou­sand He

The on­ly love­ly One!

Rejected and des­pised of men

Behold a man of woe!

Grief was His close com­pan­ion here

Through all His life be­low.

Yet all the griefs He felt were ours

Ours were the woes He bore;

Pangs not His own

His spot­less soul

With bit­ter ang­uish tore.

We all like sheep had gone as­tray

In ru­in’s fa­tal road;

On Him were our trans­gress­ions laid;

He bore the migh­ty load.