"Here might I stay and sing of Him my soul adores..."

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
                            sweet praise,
            I all my days would gladly spend.