Of ills that I have done;
I know them well, and thousands more;
Jehovah findeth none.
Sin, Satan, Death, press near
To harass and appal;
Let but my risen Lord appear,
Backward they go and fall.
Before, behind, around,
They set their fierce array
To fight and force me from my ground
Along Immanuel’s way.
I meet them face to face
Through Jesus’ conquest blest;
March in the triumph of His grace
Right onward to my rest.
There, in His book I bear
A more than conq’ror’s name,
A soldier, son, and fellow-heir,
Who fought and overcame.
His be the Victor’s name
Who fought our fight alone:
Triumphant saints no honour claim,
Their conquest was His own.
By weakness and defeat
He won the meed and crown;
Trod all our foes beneath His feet
By being trodden down.
He hell in hell laid low;
Made sin, He sin o’erthrew;
Bowed to the grave, destroyed it so,
And death, by dying, slew.
Bless, bless the Conq’ror slain!
Slain in His victory!
Who lived, who died, who lives again,
For thee, His Church, for thee.