O perfect life of love!
All, all is finished now;
All that he left his throne above
To do for us below.

No work is left undone
Of all the Father willed;
His toils, his sorrows, one by one,
The scripture have fulfilled.

No pain that we can share
But he has felt its smart;
All forms of human grief and care
Have pierced that tender heart.

And on his thorn-crowned head,
And on his sinless soul,
Our sins in all their guilt were laid,
That he might make us whole.

In perfect love he dies;
For me he dies, for me:
O all-atoning Sacrifice,
I cling by faith to thee.

In every time of need,
Before the judgement-throne,
Thy works, O Lamb of God, I'll plead,
Thy merits, not my own.

Yet work, O Lord, in me
As thou for me hast wrought;
And let my love the answer be
To grace thy love has brought.


H. W. Baker