The True Image

God's image true, his very form,
took servant's shape, of woman born.
He stooped so low, nailed to a cross,
His visage marred, his beauty lost,
For our transgressions peirced.

As by man came sin and grief,
so by Man came our relief.
Adam's lost and hopeless race
saved by free and priceless grace,
Last Adam cursed for us.

The Son of God in weakness came,
took our flesh, bore our shame.
But by the Holy Spirit's breath
he rose again, defeating death,
the Son of God with power.

Lord of the living and the dead
crowned on high the Church's head.
Rule the world with iron rod
till all that breathe submit to God,
And praise your highest name.