Much We Talk of Jesus' Blood
Joseph Hart, 1712-1768
Much we talk of Jesus' blood;
But how little's understood!
Of his sufferings so intense,
Angels have no perfect sense.
Who can rightly comprehend
Their beginning or their end?
'Tis to God, and God alone,
That their weight is fully known.
O thou hideous monster, Sin,
What a curse has thou brought in!
All creation groans through thee,
Pregnant cause of misery.
Thou hast ruined wretched man,
Ever since the world began;
Thou hast God afflicted too;
Nothing less than that would do.
Would we then rejoice indeed?
Be it that from thee we're freed;
And our justest cause to grieve
Is that thou wilt to us cleave.
Faith relieves us from thy guilt,
But we think whose blood was spilt;
All we hear, or feel, or see,
Serves to raise our hate for thee.
Dearly we are bought for God
Bought us with his own heart's blood;
Boundless depths of love divine!
Jesus, what a love was thine!
Though the wonders Thou hast done
Are as yet as little known,
Here we fix and comfort take -
Jesus died for sinners' sake.
