Plunged in a gulf of dark despair, We wretched sinners lay, Without one cheering beam of hope, Or spark of glimmering day. With pitying eyes the Prince of grace Beheld our helpless grief: He saw, and (O amazing love!) He ran to our relief. Down from the shining seats above With joyful haste He fled, Entered the grave in mortal flesh, And dwelt among the dead. O for this love let rocks and hills Their lasting silence break! And all harmonious human tongues The Savior's praises speak. Angels, assist our mighty joys, Strike all your harps of gold; But when you raise your highest notes, His love can ne'er be told! Isaac Watts
Copied from my grandmother’s hymnal, Hymn Book of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Publishing House of the M. E. Church, South: Nashville, TN, 1901, Hymn #155.
Note: This hymn is in the public domain. Also, the hymns in this hymnal are not titled. So when I do not know the hymn, I generally use the first line as the title.
Photo taken in Milton, FL, 2021