7 “Justice unsheath’d its fiery sword,
And plung’d it in my heart;
“Infinite pangs for you I bore,
“And most tormenting smart.

8 “When hell and all its spiteful powers
“Stood dreadful in my way,
“To rescue those dear lives of yours
“I gave my own away.

9 “But while I bled, and groan’d, and dy’d,
“I ruin’d Satan’s throne;
“High on my cross I hung, and spy’d
“The monster tumbling down.

10 “Now you must triumph at my feast,
“And taste my flesh, my blood;
“And live eternal ages bless’d,
“For ’tis immortal food.”

11 Victorious God! what can we pay
For favours so divine? 
We would devote our hearts away
To be for ever thine.

12 We give thee, Lord, our highest praise,
The tribute of our tongues;
But themes so infinite as these
Exceed our noblest songs.

Hymn 3:22. 
The compassion of a dying Christ.

1 Our spirits join t’ adore the Lamb;
O that our feeble lips could move
In strains immortal as his Name,
And melting as his dying love.

2 Was ever equal pity found?  The Prince of heaven resigns his breath, And pours his life out on the ground To ransom guilty worms from death.

3 [Rebels, we broke our Maker’s laws;
He from the threatening set us free,
Bore the full vengeance on his cross,
And nail’d the curses to the tree.]

4 [The law proclaims no terror now,
And Sinai’s thunder roars no more;
From all his wounds new blessings flow,
A sea of joy without a shore.

5 Here we have wash’d our deepest stains, And heal’d our wounds with heavenly blood:  Bless’d fountain! springing from the veins Of Jesus, our incarnate God.]

6 In vain our mortal voices strive
To speak compassion so divine;
Had we a thousand lives to give,
A thousand lives should all be thine.

Hymn 3:23. 
Grace and glory by the death of Christ.

1 [Sitting around our Father’s board
We raise our tuneful breath;
Our faith beholds her dying Lord,
And dooms our sins to death.]

2 We see the blood of Jesus shed,
Whence all our pardons rise;
The sinner views th’ atonement made,
And loves the sacrifice.

3 Thy cruel thorns, thy shameful cross
Procure us heavenly crowns;
Our highest gain springs from thy loss,
Our healing from thy wounds.

4 O ’tis impossible that we,
Who dwell in feeble clay,
Should equal sufferings bear for thee,
Or equal thanks repay.

Hymn 3:24. 
Pardon and strength from Christ.

1 Father, we wait to feel thy grace,
To see thy glories shine;
The Lord will his own table bless,
And make the feast divine.

2 We touch, we taste the heavenly bread,
We drink the sacred Cup;
With outward forms our sense is fed,
Our souls rejoice in hope.

3 We shall appear before the throne
Of our forgiving God,
Dress’d in the garments of his Son,
And sprinkled with his blood.