hee,
Who through Thy body and Thy blood
Hast wrought my soul's eternal good.

Break forth, my soul, in joy and praise;
What wealth is mine this day of days!
My Jesus dwells within my soul;
Let every tongue His grace extol.

Kingo's historical hymns, that is, his hymns on the stories of the
Gospels, usually are not counted among the best. Yet there are many fine
hymns among them, such as the annunciation hymn, "There Came a Message
from the Sky"; the hymn about the wedding at Cana, "How Blessed Was that
Wedding Feast"; and the splendid hymn on the transfiguration of the Lord,
"I Lift My Eyes and Spirit Up unto the Hallowed Mountain Top Where Jesus
Once Ascended". Best known among this group of hymns is, however, his
great sequence of songs on our Lord's passion. In these inspired hymns we
meet again the Kingo that we know from his spiritual songs, fiery,
eloquent, imaginative, seeking to picture every detail and mood of the
Savior's suffering from the garden to the cross. Though it is difficult
to choose among hymns so universally fine, the one given below is, at
least, fairly representative of the group.

Over Kedron Jesus passes
Ready for His passion day,
While the Prince of Darkness masses
All his legions for the fray.
Wily foes with evil hearts
Bend their bows and point their darts,
Aiming at the Savior solely,
As the world forsakes Him wholly.

David once in great affliction
Crossed the Kedron's narrow stream,
While his foes without restriction
Hatched their vile and cunning scheme.
Darker far the shadows now
Bend about the Savior's brow
As He hastens to His passion
For the sinful world's salvation.

See Him, torn by woe appalling,
Kneeling in the garden still,
And upon His Father calling
That, if possible, He will
Take the bitter cup away.
But how meekly He doth pray!
What the Father shall Him offer,
He obediently will suffer.

See, what agony assails Him
In that dark and fearful hour;
Every friend deserts or fails Him;
Satan strikes with all his power;
And the flowers beneath Him grow
Crimson with the purple flow
From His anguished frame distilling
As His cup of woe is filling.

But, O flower, whose tender blossom
Caught that precious, purple dew
From the Saviour's riven bosom,
In a blessed hour you grew!
Eden's flo