The Word Made Flesh

Creator of the universe,
The Word made flesh, and for our curse,
In great humiliation came,
To bear our sin, our guilt, and shame.

He made the trees, the rocks and hills,
The rolling fields, the sun that fills
This world with ever-shining light;
The splendor of the stars of night.

To Him a crown of thorns was giv'n,
A mocking robe, by madness driv'n;
And nailed upon a cross of wood,
Upon a lonely hill it stood.

The sun grew dark above His head,
The sky in which His fingers spread
The sun, the moon, the stars of space;
Shone not upon His bloodied face.

The ground grew wet with drops of blood,
And all around we sinners stood,
That He, forsaken in our place,
Might wash us by His loving grace.

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Tune: Brookfield, William Billings, 1770
Lyrics: Brian L. Penney, 2008