From the cross the blood is falling,
And to us a voice is calling,
Like a trumpet silver-clear.
’Tis the voice announcing pardon,
It is finished is its burden,
Pardon to the far and near.

Peace that precious blood is sealing,
All our wounds for ever healing,
And removing every load;
Words of peace that voice has spoken,
Peace that shall no more be broken,
Peace between the soul and God.

Love its fullness there unfolding,
Stand we here in joy beholding,
To the exiled sons of men;
Love the gladness past all naming,
Of an open Heaven proclaiming,
Love that bids us enter in.

God is love—we read the writing
Traced so deeply in the smiting
Of the glorious Surety there.
God is light—we see it beaming
Like a heavenly dayspring gleaming
So divinely sweet and fair.

Cross of shame, yet tree of glory,
Round thee winds the one great story
Of this ever-changing earth;
Center of the true and holy,
Grave of human sin and folly,
Womb of nature’s second birth.