R. Halverson

P.M.

WHEN I consider the works of Thy hands,

The mountains innumerable, sovereignly stand

Against the horizon, the heavens above

Speak of Thy infinite mercy and love.

What is man?

That Thou should set Thy heart on him?

And what is man?

That Thou should visit him?

2

When I consider Thine own holy Son,

Who left Thine own glory to die for this one,

My heart starts to tremble, as clearly I see,

He that knew no sin became sin for me.

3

Suffering terrors, His life flowing down,

A man torn and broken, with thorns He was crowned,

The darkness did gather, the veil it was rent,

A cry “It is finished,” my Lord’s life was spent.

4

Laid in the tomb, wrapped in linen and myrrh,

My Lord’s body stilled with my judgement incurred,

Apart from the living, that I might not be,

He tasted that bitter cup and drank it for me.

5

The third day He’s risen, the stone’s rolled away.

To His throne He’s ascended to live there alway.

He’s promised me one thing and thus it shall be,

To take me to glory His own face to see.