My song is love unknown,
my Savior’s love to me.
Love to the loveless shown,
that they might lovely be.
Oh, who am I that for my sake,
my Lord should take frail flesh and die?
He came from heaven’s throne
salvation to bestow;
but they refused, and none
the longed-for Christ would know.
This is my friend, my friend indeed,
who at my need, His life did spend.
Sometimes they crowd His way
and His sweet praises sing,
resounding all the day
hosannas to their King.
Then, “Crucify!” is all their breath,
and for His death they thirst and cry.
Why, what has my Lord done
to cause this rage and spite?
He made the lame to run
and gave the blind their sight.
What injuries, yet these are why,
the Lord Most High so cruelly dies.
With angry shouts they have
my dear Lord done away;
a murderer they save,
the Prince of Life they slay.
Yet willingly, He bears the shame,
that through His name all might be free.
Here might I stay and sing
of Him my soul adores:
never was love, dear King,
never was grief like Yours.
This is my friend in whose
I all my days would gladly spend.