Stretched on the cross, the Savior dies,
Hark! His expiring groans arise;
See, how the sacred crimson tide
Flows from His hands, His feet, His side.

To suffer in the traitor’s place,
To die for man—surprising grace!
Yet pass rebellious angels by—
O why for man, dear Savior, why?

And didst Thou bleed? for sinners bleed?
And could the sun behold the deed?
No! he withdrew his sickening ray,
And darkness veiled the mourning day.

Can I survey this scene of woe,
Where mingling grief and wonder flow,
And yet my heart unmoved remain,
Insensible to love or pain?

Come, dearest Lord, Thy grace impart,
To warm this cold, this stupid heart,
Till all its powers and passions move,
In melting grief, and ardent love.