103.

TO Christ, the Prince of Peace,
And Son of God most high,
The Father of the world to come,
Sing we with holy joy.

Deep in His heart for us

The wound of love He bore,

That love, which still He kindles in
The hearts that Him adore.

O Jesu! Victim blest!

What else but love divine

Could Thee constrain to open thus

That sacred heart of Thine?

Fount of endless life,

O Spring of waters clear,
O Flame celestial, cleansing all

That unto Thee draw near,

Hide me in Thy dear heart,

For thither do I fly,

There seek Thy grace through life, in death

Thine immortality.

Translation by EDWARD CASWALL, 1849, of a Latin Hymn, probably of the 18th century.

104.

WHEN I survey the wondrous cross,
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,

And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ, my God:
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my

all.

ISAAC WATTS, 1707.