A story most lovely I’ll tell,
Concerning the Lord from the skies;
He suffer’d the torments of hell
That sinners, dead sinners, might rise.
He left his exalted abode,
When man by transgression was lost,
Appeasing the wrath of our God,
Consented to lie in the dust.

Alas! did my Savior thus bleed,
And pity his ruin’d, lost race;
From whence did such mercy proceed,
Such boundless compassion and grace!
His body bore anguish and pain;
His spirit ’most sunk with the load;
A short time before he was slain,
His sweat was as great drops of blood.

O was it for crimes I had done,
The Savior was hail’d with a kiss,
By Judas, the traitor, alone;
Was ever compassion like this?
The ruffians all join’d in a band,
Confin’d him and led him away,
The cords wrapp’d ’round his sweet hand,
O, christians, look at him, I pray.

To Pilate’s stone pillow when led,
His body was lashed with whips;
Not one of them said that they heard
A railing word drop from his lips.
They made him a crown of share thorns,
O Jesus, they did him abuse;
They mock’d him and laugh’d him in scorn,
And hail’d him ‘The King of the Jews.’

They laded the Lamb with the cross,
And drove him up Calvary’s hill;
Come, mourner, a moment and pause,
All nature looks solemn and still.
They pierced the nails through his hands,
Transfixed and tortur’d his feet;
O, brethren, see! passive he stands!
To look at the sight, it is great.

He cried, My Father! my God!
Forsaken, thou’st left me in pain;
The cross is all color’d with blood,
The temple veil rended in twain.
He groaned his last and he died,
The sun then refused to shine,
They thrust the sharp spear in his side; –
This lovely Redeemer is mine.

He fought the hard battle and won
The kingdom, and giveth it free;
Come, christians, look forward and run,
I hope that the kingdom we’ll see.
When he in the clouds shall appear,
With angels all at his command,
And thousands of christians be there,
All singing with harps in a band.

Sweet, pleasant and happy the view,
Infusing such beams of delight!
This beauty to christians he’ll shew –
O, Jesus, I long for the sight;
I long to mount up in the skies,
In paradise make my abode,
And sing of salvation on high,
And rest with my Savior and God.

Author: Unknown

Signs of the Times
Volume 27, Number 3; February 1, 1859

Below are the songs that were made from the poem using AI. They are identified
by the genre of the music in paranthesis.