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63t Condescension


How condescending and how kind
Was God's eternal Son!
Our mis'ry reached His heav'nly mind,
And pity brought Him down.

When justice, by our sins provoked,
Drew forth its dreadful sword,
He gave His soul up to the stroke,
Without a murm'ring word.

He sank beneath our heavy woes, 
To raise us to His throne,
There's ne'er a gift His hand bestows,
But cost His heart a groan.

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