1 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?

2 He came from His blest throne
salvation to bestow;
but men made strange, and none
the longed for Christ would know.
But oh, my Friend, my Friend indeed,
who at my need His life did spend!

3 Sometimes they strew 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.

4 Why, what hath my Lord done?
What makes this rage and spite?
He made the lame to run;
He gave the blind their sight.
Sweet injuries! Yet they at these
themselves displease,
and 'gainst Him rise.

5 They rise, and needs will have
my dear Lord made away.
A murderer they save;
the Prince of Life they slay.
Yet cheerful He to suff'ring goes,
that He His foes from thence might free.

6 In life, no house, no home
my Lord on earth might have;
in death, no friendly tomb
but what a stranger gave.
What may I say? Heav'n was His home;
but mine the tomb wherein He lay.

7 Here might I stay and sing–
no story so divine!
Never was love, dear King,
never was grief like Thine.
This is my Friend, in whose sweet praise
I all my days could gladly spend.