Than tongue or pen can ever tell,
It goes beyond the highest star
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His son to win:
His erring child He reconciled
And pardoned from his sin.
Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the skies with parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry,
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Tho stretched from sky to sky.
O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure --
The saints and angels song.
Frederick M. Lehman