Classic Poem

O God, the name to which I pray,
Of boundless love and pow'r,
O pass, if possible, away
This bitter cup and hour.

Yet if these drops must thus be spilt,
Thou, Father, knowest best;
And be it rather as thou wilt,
Than to my soul's request.

Lo! strangers to thy truth arise,
Nor put their trust in thee;
And Herod, leagu'd with Pilate, vies
To nail me to the tree.

But God shall raise from stripes and scorn
The Lamb betray'd and kill'd;
And on the third triumphant morn
This temple shall rebuild.

Then thou shalt greater grace supply
To have the worst redeem'd;
And truth shall make them free to die
For him they once blasphem'd.

A victim patient and resign'd
I for the cross prepare,
And bless thy name, because I find
Such consolation there.

For he has caus'd me to respire,
And all my vows have thriv'n;
Mine eye has seen my heart's desire
In every foe forgiv'n.