I cannot tell why He Whom angels worship,
Should set His
love upon the sons of men,
Or why, as Shepherd, He should
seek the wanderers,
To bring them back, they know not how or
when.
But this I know, that He was born of Mary
When
Bethlehem¡¦s manger was His only home,
And that He lived at
Nazareth and laboured,
And so the Saviour, Saviour of the
world is come.
I cannot tell how silently He suffered,
As with His peace
He graced this place of tears,
Or how His heart upon the
cross was broken,
The crown of pain to three and thirty
years.
But this I know, He heals the broken-hearted,
And
stays our sin, and calms our lurking fear,
And lifts the
burden from the heavy laden,
For yet the Saviour, Saviour of
the world is here.
I cannot tell how He will win the nations,
How He will
claim His earthly heritage,
How satisfy the needs and
aspirations
Of East and West, of sinner and of sage.
But
this I know, all flesh shall see His glory,
And He shall reap
the harvest He has sown,
And some glad day His sun shall
shine in splendour
When He the Saviour, Saviour of the world
is known.
I cannot tell how all the lands shall worship,
When, at
His bidding, every storm is stilled,
Or who can say how great
the jubilation
When all the hearts of men with love are
filled.
But this I know, the skies will thrill with rapture,
And myriad, myriad human voices sing,
And earth to heaven,
and heaven to earth, will answer:
At last the Saviour,
Saviour of the world is King!
