Jesus, in Thee our eyes behold
A thousand glories more,
Than the rich gems and polished gold
The sons of Aaron wore.
They first their own burnt offerings
brought,
To purge themselves from sin;
Thy life was pure without a spot,
And all Thy nature clean.
Fresh blood as constant as the day
Was on their altar spilt;
But Thy one offering takes away
For ever all our guilt.
Their priesthood ran through several hands,
For mortal was their race;
Thy never changing office stands
Eternal as Thy days.
Once in the circuit of a year,
With blood, but not his own,
Aaron within the veil appears
Before the golden throne:
But Christ, by His own powerful blood,
Ascends above the skies,
And in the presence of our God
Shows His own sacrifice.
Jesus, the King of glory, reigns
On Zion�s heav�nly hill;
Looks like a lamb that has been slain,
And wears His priesthood still.
He ever lives to intercede
Before His Father�s face:
Give Him, my soul, thy cause to plead,
Nor doubt the Father�s grace.
