CLII. The Triumphs of the Dying Saviour

1 No more, dear Saviour, will I boast
Of beauty, wealth, or loud applause:
The world has all its glories lost,
Amid the triumphs of the cross.

2 In ev'ry feature of thy face
Beauty her fairest charms displays;
Truth, wisdom, majesty, and grace
Shine thence in sweetly mingled rays.

3 Thy wealth, the pow’r of thought transcends,
’Tis vast, immense, and all divine:
Thy empire, Lord, o’er all extends;
The sun, the moon, the stars are thine.

4 Yet (O how marvelous the sight!)
I see thee on a cross expire;
Thy Godhead veil'd in sable night;
And angels from the scene retire.

5 But, why from these sad scenes retreat?
Why with your wings your faces hide?
He ne'er appear'd so good, so great,
As when he bow'd his head and died.

6 The indignation of a God
On him avenging justice hurl'd:
Beneath the weight he firmly stood,
And nobly sav'd a falling world.

7 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!

Text Information
First Line: No more, dear Savior, will I boast
Title: The Triumphs of the Dying Saviour
Author: S. Stennett
Meter: L. M.
Language: English
Publication Date: 1792
Scripture: ;
Topic: The Death of Jesus, who Died for All; Who tasted Death for Every Man
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