Cecil Frances Alexander (1823–1895)

THERE is a green hill far away

Without a city wall,

Where the dear Lord was crucified,

Who died to save us all.

We may not know, we cannot tell

What pains He had to bear,

But we believe it was for us

He hung and suffered there.

He died that we might be forgiven,

He died to make us good,

That we might go at last to Heaven,

Saved by His precious blood.

There was no other good enough

To pay the price of sin;

He only could unlock the gate

Of Heaven, and let us in.

O dearly, dearly, has He loved,

And we must love Him too,

And trust in His redeeming blood,

And try His works to do.