No more, dear Sav­ior, will I boast
Of beauty, wealth, or loud applause;
The world has all its glories lost,
Amid the triumphs of Thy cross.

In every feature of Thy face
Beauty her fairest charms displays;
Truth, wisdom, majesty, and grace,
Shine thence in sweetly mingled rays.

Thy wealth the pow’r of thought transcends,
’Tis vast, immense, and all divine;
Thy empire, Lord, o’er worlds extends—
The sun, the moon, the stars are Thine.

Yet, oh how marvelous the sight!
I see Thee on a cross expire;
Thy Godhead veiled in sable night;
And angels from the scene retire.

But, why from these sad scenes retreat?
Why with your wings your faces hide?
He ne’er appeared so good, so great,
As when he bowed His head and died.

The indignation of a God
On Him avenging justice hurled:
Beneath the weight He firmly stood,
And nobly saved a falling world.

These triumphs of stupendous grace
Surprise, rejoice, and melt my heart;
Lord, at Thy cross I stand and gaze,
Nor would I ever thence depart!