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Fulfilled is each prophetic word,
Each faith inspired strain, Telling the nations of that Lord,
Who by the Cross should reign.
O ever honored, glorious tree!
Than purple throne more fair, Of all on earth, 'twas granted thee,
His holy limbs to bear.
How blest upon whose arm outspread,
As in a balance hung, The world's great ransom bowed His head,
While hell with curses rung.
Hail, Cross of Christ! man's only hope;
While now we gaze and pray, Dear Lord, the exhaustless fountains ope,
And wash our sins away.
Source of all good, great Three in One,
All souls give praise to Thee; Add Thou to what the Cross hath done,
Our crown of victory.
The thirty years have all been passed,
Through which the human life must last,
And with free love, the Lord doth go,
To meet His Passion's bitter woe;
The Lamb that takes from sin its strength,
Has reached His fearful Cross at length.
Gall to His parched lip they bear,
With thorn, and nail, and piercing spear,
They rouse His flesh to anguished throes.
Forth then the healing torrent flows,
Water and blood, whose cleansing wave
Rolls on, earth, sea, and stars to lave.
O faithful Cross! thou noblest tree,
of all that man shall ever see,
In earth's wide forests there doth shine,
No leaf, no flower, no fruit like thine.
Yea sweet the iron, and sweet the wood,
That bear the Lord, and shew His blood.
Bend down thine arms thou lofty tree,
To ease the Sufferer's agony.
Instinct with life, thy nature tame;
Make supple all thy rigid frame,
And strive with gentlest, tenderest care,
Thy Lord's own Royal form to bear.
Only to Thee was honor given,
To lift on high the Lamb from Heaven,
Thy spreading arms upheld the Ark,
Sole refuge in sin's deluge dark,
Thou only O thrice honored wood,
Wert moistened with the Saviour's blood.
Let everlasting glory be,
To Thee 0 blessed Trinity;
To Father, Spirit, and to Son,
Be endless honors ever done;
And let all things and creatures join,
To bless and praise, the One and Trine.
GOD SPARED NOT His own Son.
Passed the Red and angry sea,
Reached the gardens of delight;
We who strove so doubtfully,
Clad in robes of purest white,
At the Lamb's high feast will sing,
The praises of our Priestly King.
He whose love sur ssing thought,
Gave His own most precious blood,
And His sacred body brought,
Offering of immortal food,
Love the Priest, the Victim Love,
He shall bear our souls above.