1
We sing the praise of Him who died,
Of Him who died upon the cross;
The sinner's hope let men deride;
For this we count the world but loss.
2
Inscribed upon the cross we see
In shining letters, "God is love;"
He bears our sins upon the tree:
He brings us mercy from above.
3
The cross — it takes our guilt away;
It holds the fainting spirit up;
It cheers with hope the gloomy day,
And sweetens every bitter cup.
4
It makes the coward spirit brave,
And nerves the feeble arm for fight;
It takes the terror from the grabe,
And gilds the bed of death with light.
5
The balm of life, the cure of woe,
The measure and the pledge of love,
The sinner's refuge here below,
The angels' theme in heaven above.
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