It is a thing most wonderful,
Almost too wonderful to be,
That God’s own Son should come from heav’n,
And die to save a child like me.
And yet I know that it is true:
He chose a poor and humble lot,
And wept, and toiled, and mourned, and died,
For love of those who loved him not.
I sometimes think about the Cross,
And shut my eyes, and try to see
The cruel nails and crown of thorns,
And Jesus crucified for me.
But even could I see him die,
I should but see a little part
Of that great love, which, like a fire,
Is always burning in his heart.
And yet I want to love thee, Lord;
O light the flame within my heart,
And I will love thee more and more,
Until I see thee as thou art.
Bishop W.W. How