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	MY song is love unknown,    My Saviour’s love to me; Love to the loveless shown,     That they might lovely be.         O, who am I,             That for my sake             My Lord should take         Frail flesh, and die?
2	He came from His blest throne     Salvation to bestow; But men made strange, and none     The longed-for Christ would know:         But O! my Friend,             My Friend indeed,             Who at my need         His life did spend.
3	Sometimes they strew 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.
4	They rise and needs will have     My dear Lord made away; A murderer they save,     The Prince of life they slay;         Yet cheerful He             To suffering goes,             That He His foes         From thence might free.
5	In life, no house, no home     My Lord on earth might have; In death, no friendly tomb,     But what a stranger gave.         What may I say?             Heaven was His home;             But mine the tomb         Wherein He lay.
6	Here might I stay and sing,     No story so divine; Never was love, dear King!     Never was grief like Thine.         This is my Friend,             In Whose sweet praise             I all my days         Could gladly spend.
	Samuel Crossman, 1624-83