It is a thing most wonderful, 

almost too wonderful to be, 

that God's own Son should come from heav'n, 

and die to save a child like me. 

And yet I know that it is true: 

He chose a poor and humble lot, 

and wept and toiled and mourned and died 

for love of those who loved Him not. 

I cannot tell how He could love 

a child so weak and full of sin; 

His love must be most wonderful 

if He could die my love to win. 

I sometimes think about the cross, 

and shut my eyes, and try to see 

the cruel nails and crown of thorns, 

and Jesus crucified for me. 

But even could I see Him die, 

I could but see a little part 

of that great love which, like a fire, 

is always burning in His heart. 

It is most wonderful to know 

His love for me so free and sure; 

but 'tis more wonderful to see 

my love for him so faint and poor. 

And yet I want to love Thee, Lord; 

O light the flame within my heart, 

and I will love Thee more and more, 

until I see Thee as Thou art.