All old things now are past away,
A new world is begun.
232. L. M. Steele.
A Dying Saviour.
1Stretched on the cross, the Saviour dies,
Hark! his expiring groans arise;
See, from his hands, his feet, his side,
Descends the sacred, crimson tide.
2And didst thou bleed?--for sinners bleed?
And could the sun behold the deed?