Maker of the Universe
The Maker of the universe
As man to man was made a curse;
The claims of law which He had made
Unto the uttermost He paid.
His holy fingers made the bough
That grew the thorns that pierced His brow;
The nails that pierced His hands were mined
In secret places He designed.
He made the forest whence there sprung
The tree on which His body hung;
He died upon a cross of wood,
Yet made the hill on which it stood.
The throne on which He now appears
Was His from everlasting years –
But a new crown adorns His brow,
And every knee to Him shall bow.
F. W. Pitt