my Savior’s love to me
Love to the loveless shown,
that they might lovely be
Oh, who am I that for my sake
Oh, who am I that for my sake
My Lord should take frail flesh and die?
salvation to bestow
But they refused and
none the longed-for Christ would know,
This is my friend, my friend indeed
Who at my need, His life did spend.
And His sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the day
Hosannas to their King.
Then “Crucify!”
Is all their breath,
And for His death
They thirst and cry.
What makes this rage and spite?
He made the lame to run,
He gave the blind their sight.
What injuries, yet these are why
The Lord Most High so cruelly dies.
my dear Lord done away,
A murderer they save,
the Prince of Life they slay
Yet willingly, He bears the shame
Yet willingly, He bears the shame
That through His name all might be free.
In life, no house, no home
My Lord on earth might have;
In death, no friendly tomb,
But what a stranger gave.
What may I say?
Heav’n was His home;
But mine the tomb
Wherein He lay.
of Him my soul adores
Never was love, dear King,
never was grief like Yours.
This is my friend in whose sweet praise
I, all my days would gladly spend.
(Written by Samuel Crossman in 1664)
Our Journey 