My song is love unknown, my Savior’s love to me;
love to the loveless shown, that they might lovely be.
Oh who am I that for my sake
my Lord should take frail flesh and die?
He came from heaven’s throne salvation to bestow.
But man would soon disown the longedfor Christ below.
This is my friend, my friend indeed,
who at my need his life did spend.
Sometimes they crowd his way 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.
Why, what has my Lord done to cause this rage and spite?
He made the lame to run and gave the blind their sight.
What injuries!— yet these are why
the Lord Most High so cruelly dies.
With cries of rage they have my dear Lord done away;
a murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay.
Yet freely he to suff’ring goes
so that his foes he might set free.
Here might I stay and sing 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.