And see upon His Father’s throne
A Man, with glory crowned;
His brow is marred, and on His side,
Whence flowed the cleansing crimson tide,
The marks of love are found.
Here is the record of the past—
Fruit of my sins that bound Him fast
To that degrading tree;
In every wound I read my guilt,
And thank Him that His blood was spilt
To set my conscience free.
I look again, and now I see
That blessèd Man engaged for me,
His hands uplifted high;
Before the throne of God He pleads,
God’s great High Priest, He intercedes,
And so preserves me nigh.
Once more I gaze upon that face,
And lo! as if to leave His place
He seems about to rise;
Recalling His I quickly come,
I learn His thought—to fetch me home,
To praise Him in the skies.
What love! He washed my sins away,
Thus boldness in the Judgment Day
For me there doth remain.
What grace! now occupied with me,
He wills I should His glory see,
When He returns again!