This Lamb, He is the soul's great Friend And everlasting Saviour, God chooseth Him sin's reign to end And bring us to His favour. "Go forth, my Son! redeem to Thee The children who're exposed by me To punishment and anger. The punishment is great, and dread The wrath, but Thou Thy blood shalt shed, And free them thus from danger." "I'll go where, Father! thou dost send, Bear what on me Thou layest, My will doth on Thy word depend, My work is what Thou sayest." O mighty love! O wondrous love! Thou canst do all our thoughts above, Make God His Son deliver! O love! O love! Thy pow'r how great! Thou did'st Him e'en to death prostrate Whose glance the rocks can shiver. Thou martyr'st Him upon the tree, With spear and nails destroying Thou slay'st Him, lamblike, ruthlessly, Till heart and veins are flowing, The heart with many a long-drawn sigh, And till His veins are copiously Their noble life-blood yielding. Sweet Lamb! what shall I do for Thee For all the good Thou doest me, Thus saving me and shielding? All my life long I'll cleave to Thee And shall forget Thee never, As always Thou embracest me I will embrace Thee ever. My heart's Light Thou shalt ever be, And when my heart shall break in me Thy heart shall fail me never. O Thou, my Glory, I to Thee Myself as Thine own property Herewith resign for ever! I ever shall both night and day Thy loveliness be singing, An offering of joy shall aye Myself to Thee be bringing. My stream of life shall still to Thee, And to Thy name, outpourèd be, In gratitude enduring. Of every good Thou doest me, My soul shall mindful strive to be, In memory securing! Shrine of my heart! now open'd be, To thee shall now be given Fair treasures that far greater be Than earth, and sea, and heaven. Away! gold of Arabia, Myrrh, calamus, and cassia, Far better I discover! My priceless treasure is, O Thou My Jesus! what so freely now From Thy wounds floweth over! Good use of this behoves it me At all times to be making, My shield in conflict shall it be, My joy when heart is breaking, In happiness my song of joy; When all things else my taste do cloy, This manna then shall feed me, In thirst my well-spring shall it be, In solitude converse with me, And out and in shall lead me! What can death's poison do to me? Thy blood to me life giveth, And when the sun burns fervently, With grateful shade relieveth; And when with sorrow sore oppress'd I ever find in it my rest, As sick men on their pillows. My anchor art Thou, when my skies Are clouded o'er, and tempests rise, My bark 'whelm in the billows.