Jesus, in Thee our eyes beholdA thousand glories more,Than the rich gems and polished goldThe 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 dayWas on their altar spilt;But Thy one offering takes awayFor ever all our guilt.
Their priesthood ran through several hands,For mortal was their race;Thy never changing office standsEternal as Thy days.
Once in the circuit of a year,With blood, but not his own,Aaron within the veil appearsBefore the golden throne:
But Christ, by His own powerful blood,Ascends above the skies,And in the presence of our GodShows His own sacrifice.
Jesus, the King of glory, reignsOn Zion’s heav’nly hill;Looks like a lamb that has been slain,And wears His priesthood still.
He ever lives to intercedeBefore His Father’s face:Give Him, my soul, thy cause to plead,Nor doubt the Father’s grace.