Classic Poem

HYMN XX.

G L ory to God on high,
Good will to men below:
If thus the friendly angels cry,
What joy should mortals show!

Those angels free from sin,
No bloody offering need:
'Twas for the guilty sons of men
Our Saviour came to bleed.

Yet the kind heav'nly host
With shouting rend the sky,
Glad that the thrones, their fellows lost,
Redeem'd men shall supply.

What good, what welcome news!
What wond'rous love is here!
That God his only son should bruise,
So lovely, and so dear!

That poor apostate man
In heav'n might ever dwell,
Who with wild fury headlong ran
The way that leads to hell!

Dear Lord , with what surprize
Do we thy sufferings trace;
And mark thy wounds, thy groans, thy cries,
Thy sorrows, and disgrace!

For all this hast thou borne
To expiate our guilt:
Thy flesh to heal our sores was torn,
Thy blood to cleanse us spilt.

Thy shame deserves renown,
Thy cross a princely throne;
That head becomes a royal crown,
Which wore a thorny one.

And one day thou our king
In glory wilt appear,
And troops of saints and angels bring
T' attend thy triumph here.

Glory to God on high,
Good will to men below:
If thus the friendly angels cry,
What joy should mortals show!