Easter Hymn Sheet




1         How deep the Father’s love for us,

how vast beyond all measure,

that he should give his only Son

to make a wretch his treasure.

How great the pain of searing loss,

the Father turns his face away,

as wounds which mar the Chosen One

bring many sons to glory.


2          Behold the man upon a cross,

my sin upon his shoulders;

ashamed, I hear my mocking voice

call out among the scoffers.

It was my sin that held him there

until it was accomplished;

his dying breath has brought me life —

I know that it is finished.


3         I will not boast in anything,

No gifts, no pow’r, no wisdom;

But I will boast in Jesus Christ,

His death and resurrection.

Why should I gain from his reward?

I cannot give an answer,

but this I know with all my heart,

his wounds have paid my ransom.


Stuart Townend © 1995 Kingsway Thankyou Music


277    1    My song is love unknown,
        my Saviour's love to me,
        love to the loveless shown,
        that they might lovely be.
        O 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 they made strange, and none
        the longed-for Christ would know.
        But O 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 has 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 suffering 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?
        Heaven 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.

Samuel Crossman (c. 1624–1683)


284    1    There is a green hill far away,
        outside a city wall,
        where the dear Lord was crucified,
        who died to save us all.

   2    We may not know, we cannot tell,
        what pains he had to bear,
        but we believe it was for us
        he hung and suffered there.

   3    He died that we might be forgiven.
        He died to make us good,
        that we might go at last to heaven,
        saved by his precious blood.

   4    There was no other good enough
        to pay the price of sin;
        he only could unlock the gate
        of heaven, and let us in.

   5    O dearly, dearly has he loved,
        and we must love him too,
        and trust in his redeeming blood,
        and try his works to do.

Cecil Frances Alexander (1818–1895)


287    1    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.

   2    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.

   3    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?

   4    His dying crimson, like a robe,
        spreads o'er his body on the tree;
        then am I dead to all the globe,
        and all the globe is dead to me.

   5    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 (1674–1748)


279    1    O precious sight, my Saviour stands,
        dying for me with outstretched hands.
        O precious sight; I love to gaze,
        remembering salvation day,
        remembering salvation day.

   2    Though my eyes linger on this scene,
        may passing time and years not steal
        the power with which it impacts me,
        the freshness of its mystery,
        the freshness of its mystery.

            May I never lose the wonder,
            the wonder of the cross.
            May I see it like the first time,
            standing as a sinner lost.
            Undone by mercy and left speechless,
            watching wide-eyed at the cost.
            May I never lose the wonder,
            the wonder of the cross.

   3    Behold, the God-Man crucified,
        the perfect sinless sacrifice.
        As blood ran down those nails and wood,
        history was split in two,
        history was split in two.

   4    Behold, the empty wooden tree,
        his body gone, alive and free.
        We sing with everlasting joy
        for sin and death have been destroyed,
        sin and death have been destroyed.

            May I never lose the wonder …

Vicky Beeching


298    1    Christ the Lord is risen today: Alleluia!
        All creation joins to say:                   Alleluia!
        Raise your joys and triumphs high;  Alleluia!
        Sing, you heavens; let earth, reply: Alleluia!

   2    Love's redeeming work is done,        Alleluia!
        Fought the fight, the battle won;      Alleluia!
        Vain the stone, the watch, the seal    Alleluia!
        Christ has burst the gates of hell:     Alleluia!

   3    Lives again our glorious King;        Alleluia!
        Where, O death, is now your sting?Alleluia!
        Once he died our souls to save;      Alleluia!
        Where's your victory, boasting grave?Alleluia!

   4    Soar we now where Christ has led,    Alleluia!
        Following our exalted Head;           Alleluia!
        Made like him, like him we rise;     Alleluia!
        Ours the cross, the grave, the skies: Alleluia!

   5    King of Glory!  Soul of bliss!        Alleluia!
        Everlasting life is this,                     Alleluia!
        You to know, your power to prove,   Alleluia!
        Thus to sing, and thus to love:        Alleluia!

Charles Wesley (1707–1788)


313    1       Thine be the glory,
        risen, conquering Son,
        endless is the victory
        thou o’er death hast won;
        angels in bright raiment
        rolled the stone away,
        kept the folded grave-clothes
        where thy body lay:
            Thine be the glory,
            risen, conquering Son,
            endless is the victory
            thou o’er death hast won.

   2    Lo, Jesus meets us,
        risen from the tomb;
        lovingly he greets us,
        scatters fear and gloom;
        let the Church with gladness
        hymns of triumph sing,
        for her Lord now liveth,
        death hath lost its sting:

   3    No more we doubt thee,
        glorious Prince of Life;
        life is naught without thee:
        aid us in our strife;
        make us more than conquerors
        through thy deathless love;
        bring us safe through Jordan
        to thy home above:

Edmond Budry (1854–1932)
translated by Richard Birch Hoyle (1875–1939)