Author: Mrs Rundal Charles
No gospel like this feast
Spread for thy church by thee;
Nor prophet nor evangelist
Preach the glad news so free.
All our redemption cost,
All our redemption won;
All it has won for us, the lost,
All it cost thee, the Son.
Thine was the bitter price,
Ours is the free gift given;
Thine was the blood of sacrifice,
Ours is the wine of heaven.
Here we would rest midway,
As on a sacred height,
That darkest and that brightest day
Meeting before our sight;
From that dark depth of woes
Thy love for us hath trod
Up to the heights of blest repose
Thy love prepares with God:
Till, from self’s chains released,
One sight alone we see –
Still at the cross, as at the feast,
Behold thee, only thee!
For thee, the burning thirst,
The shame, the mortal strife,
The broken heart, the side transpierced;
To us, the bread of life.
