THIS IS THE TRUE GOD
The Maker of the universe
As Man for man was made a curse;
The claims of law which He had made
Unto the uttermost He paid.
His holy fingers made the bough
Which grew the thorns that crowned His brow;
The nails which pierced His hands were mined
In secret places He designed.
He made the forest whence there sprung
The tree on which His body hung;
He died upon a cross of wood,
Yet made the hill on which it stood.
The sky that darkened o’er His head
By Him above the earth was spread;
The sun that hid from Him his face
By His decree was poised in space.
The spear which spilled His precious blood
Was tempered in the fires of God;
The grave in which His form was laid
Was hewn in rocks His hands had made.
The throne on which He now appears
Was His from everlasting years;
But a new glory crowns His brow,
And every knee to Him shall bow.