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.

Inscribed upon the cross we see,
In shining letters, “God is love”!
The Lamb who died upon the tree
Has brought us mercy from above.

The cross! it took 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 its 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 theme of praise in heaven above.