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It traces Christ leaving “His throne, salvation to bestow,” taking “frail flesh,” having no place to lay His head, making the lame to run and the blind to see, enduring rejection, rage, and spite, entering Jerusalem on an ass to the Hosannas of the people, His love rewarded with hate, traded for a murderer, yet going cheerfully to suffering, dying for sinners, sleeping in a stranger’s tomb.
The sacrificial, vicarious, atoning nature of His death is emphasized. He died that the loveless might be lovely. He spent His life for my need. He suffered “that he his foes from thence might free.”
Christ is exalted as “my Saviour,” “my Lord,” “the longed-for Christ,” “my Friend indeed,” “the Prince of Life.”
It’s a “story divine,” “a story so sublime.”
“My Song Is Love Unknown” was written by Samuel Crossman (1623-1684), a Puritan who was “among the 2,000 clergy ejected from the Church of England due to their refusal to submit to the 1662 Act of Uniformity.” Two years later he penned the poem that was published as a hymn posthumously.
The tune most commonly used is LOVE UNKNOWN by John Ireland, first published in The Public School Hymn Book of 1919.
1. My song is love unknown; My Saviour's love to me. Love to the loveless shown, That they might lovely be. Oh who am I, that for my sake My Lord should take Frail flesh and die.
2. He came from his blessed throne, Salvation to bestow: But men made strange, and none The longed-for Christ would know. But oh! my friend; My friend indeed, Who at my need His life did spend.
3. Sometimes they strow his way, And his sweet praises sing; Resounding all the day, Hosannas to their King. Then crucify Is all their breath, And for his death They thirst, and cry.
4. Why, what hath my Lord done? What makes this rage, and spite? He made the lame to run, He gave the blind their sight. Sweet injuries! Yet they at these Themselves displease, And 'gainst him rise.
5. They rise, and needs will have My dear Lord made away, A murderer they save: The Prince of life they slay. Yet cheerful he to suff'ring goes, That he his foes From thence might free.
6. In life no house, no home, My Lord on earth might have: In death no friendly tomb, But what a stranger gave. What may I say? Heav'n was his home; But mine the tomb Wherein he lay.
7. Here might I stay, and sing; No story so divine. Never was love, dear King! Never was grief like thine. This is my friend, In whose sweet praise I all my days Could gladly spend.
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