From the angel’s song
And the blessed throng,
Of heaven He came for me;
From the glory gold,
To a world so cold,
My Saviour came for me.
They knew Him not,
So poor His lot—
So poor He was for me;
No friends, no home,
Despised, alone,
He suffered thus for me.
And armed bands,
With cruel hands,
Dragged Jesus to the tree;
And the crimson flood,
Of a Saviour’s blood,
Gushed from His veins for me.
But soon He arose,
From the dread repose,
Of the death He died for me;
And at heaven’s bright gate,
Where the ransom’d wait,
A welcome He’ll give to me.