How beauteous were the marks divine,

How beauteous were the marks divine,

That in Thy meekness used to shine,

That lit Thy lonely pathway, trod

In wondrous love, O Son of God!

O who like Thee, so mild, so bright,

Thou Son of man, Thou Light of light?

O who like Thee did ever go

So patient, through a world of woe?

O who like Thee so humbly bore

The scorn, the scoffs of men, before?

So meek, so lowly, yet so high,

So glorious in humility?

And death, that sets the prisoner free,

Was pang, and scoff, and scorn to Thee;

Yet love through all Thy torture glowed,

And mercy with Thy life-blood flowed.

O wondrous Lord, my soul would be

Still more and more conformed to Thee,

And learn of Thee, the lowly One,

And like Thee, all my journey run.