we sing the praise of him

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 lost.




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.




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.




It makes the coward spirit brave,

and nerves the feeble arm for fight;

it takes the terror from the grave,

and gilds the bed of death with light.




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.