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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