How sweetly flowed the gospel sound

From lips of gentleness and grace,

When listening thousands gathered round,

And joy and gladness filled the place!

2 From heaven he came, of heaven he spoke,

To heaven he led his followers’ way;

Dark clouds of gloomy night he broke,

Unvailing an immortal day.

3 “Come, wanderers, to my Father’s home:

Come, all ye weary ones, and rest!”

Yes, sacred Teacher, we will come,

Obey thee, love thee, and be blest.

In Jordan’s tide the Baptist stands,

Immersing the repenting Jews;

The Son of God the rite demands,

Nor dares the holy man refuse:

Jesus descends beneath the wave,

The emblem of his future grave!

2 Wonder, ye heavens! your Maker lies

In deeps concealed from human view;

Ye saints, behold him sink and rise;

A fit example this for you:

The sacred record, while you read,

Calls you to imitate the deed.

3 But, lo! from yonder opening skies,

What beams of dazzling glory spread!

Dove-like the Holy Spirit flies,

And lights on the Redeemer’s head:

Amazed they see the power divine

Around the Saviour’s temples shine.

4 But, hark! my soul, hark, and adore!

What sounds are those that roll along?

Not loud, like Sinai’s awful roar;

But soft and sweet as Gabriel’s song:

“This is my well-belovéd Son,

I see well-pleased what he hath done.”

5 Thus the eternal Father spoke,

Who shakes creation with a nod,

Through parting skies the accents broke,

And bid us hear the Son of God;

O hear the awful word to-day;

Hear, all ye nations, and obey!

And is the gospel peace and love?

Such let our conversation be:

The serpent blended with the dove—

Wisdom and meek simplicity.

2 Whene’er the angry passions rise,

And tempt our thoughts or tongues to strife

On Jesus let us fix our eyes,

Bright pattern of the Christian life.

3 O how benevolent and kind!

How mild! how ready to forgive!

Be his the temper of our mind,

And his the rules by which we live.

4 To do his heavenly Father’s will

Was his employment and delight;

Humility, and love, and zeal,

Shone through his life divinely bright.

5 Dispensing good where’er he came,

The labors of his life were love—

O! if we love the Saviour’s name,

Let his divine example move.

6 But ah! how blind, how weak we are!

How frail, how apt to turn aside!

Lord, we depend upon thy care;

O may thy spirit be our guide!

7 Thy fair example may we trace,

To teach us what we ought to be;

Make us, by thy transforming grace,

Lord Jesus, daily more like thee.

How beauteous were the marks divine,

That in thy meekness used to shine;

That lit thy lonely pathway, trod

In wondrous love, O Son of God!

2 O, who like thee—so calm, so bright,

So pure, so made to live in light?

O, who like thee did ever go

So patient through a world of woe?

3 O, who like thee so humbly bore

The scorn, the scoffs of men, before?

So meek, forgiving, godlike, high,

So glorious in humility?

4 The bending angels stooped to see,

The lisping infant clasp thy knee,

And smile, as in a father’s eye,

Upon thy mild divinity.

5 And death, which sets the prisoner free,

Was pang, and scoff, and scorn to thee;

Yet love through all thy torture glowed,

And mercy with thy life-blood flowed.

6 O, in thy light be mine to go,

Illuming all my way of woe;

And give me ever on the road

To trace thy footsteps, Son of God!

Behold the blind their sight receive!

Behold the dead awake and live!

The dumb speak wonders, and the lame

Leap like the hart, and bless his name!

2 Thus doth the Holy Spirit own

And seal the mission of the Son;

The Father vindicates his cause,

While he hangs bleeding on the cross.

3 He dies: the heavens in mourning stood;

He rises by the power of God:

Behold the Lord ascending high,

No more to bleed, no more to die!

4 Hence and for ever from my heart

I bid my doubts and fears depart;

And to those hands my soul resign,

Which bear credentials so divine.

My dear Redeemer and my Lord,

I read my duty in thy word;

But in thy life the law appears

Drawn out in living characters.

2 Such was thy truth, and such thy zeal,

Such deference to thy Father’s will,

Such love, and meekness so divine;

I would transcribe and make them mine.

3 Cold mountains and the midnight air

Witnessed the fervor of thy prayer;

The desert thy temptations knew,

Thy conflict and thy victory too.

4 Be thou my pattern; make me bear

More of thy gracious image here;

Then God the judge shall own my name

Among the followers of the Lamb.

Not to condemn the sons of men,

Did Christ, the Son of God, appear;

No weapons in his hands are seen,

No flaming sword, nor thunder there.

2 Such was the pity of our God,

He loved the race of man so well,

He sent his Son to bear our load

Of sins, and save our souls from hell.

3 Sinners, believe the Saviour’s word;

Trust in his mighty name, and live:

A thousand joys his lips afford,

His hands a thousand blessings give.

As much have I of worldly good

As e’er my Master had;

I diet on as dainty food,

And am as richly clad;

Though plain my garb, though scant my hoard,

As Mary’s Son and nature’s Lord.

2 The manger was his infant bed,

His home the mountain cave;

He had not where to lay his head—

He borrowed e’en his grave;

Earth yielded him no resting-spot;

Her Maker, but she knew him not.

3 As much the world’s good-will I share,

Its favors and applause,

As he whose blessed name I bear,

Hated without a cause;

Despised, rejected, mocked by pride,

Betrayed, forsaken, crucified.

4 Why should I court my Master’s foe?

Why should I fear its frown?

Why should I seek for rest below?

Or sigh for brief renown?

A pilgrim to a better land,

An heir of joy at God’s right hand.

Behold, where, in a mortal form,

Appears each grace divine;

The virtues, all in Jesus met,

With mildest radiance shine.

2 To spread the rays of heavenly light,

To give the mourner joy,

To preach glad tidings to the poor,

Was his divine employ.

3 ’Midst keen reproach, and cruel scorn,

Patient and meek he stood;

His foes, ungrateful, sought his life;

He labored for their good.

4 In the last hour of deep distress,

Before his Father’s throne,

With soul resigned, he bowed, and said,

“Thy will, not mine, be done!”

5 Be Christ our pattern and our guide;

His image may we bear;

O, may we tread his holy steps,

His joy and glory share!

A pilgrim through this lonely world,

The blessed Saviour passed;

A mourner all his life was he,

A dying Lamb at last.

2 That tender heart which felt for all,

For us its life-blood gave;

It found on earth no resting-place,

Save only in the grave!

3 Such was our Lord: and shall we fear

The cross with all its scorn?

Or love a faithless, evil world,

That wreathed his brow with thorn?

4 No; facing all its frowns or smiles,

Like him, obedient still,

We homeward press, through storm or calm,

To Zion’s blessed hill.

The winds were howling o’er the deep;

Each wave a watery hill;

The Saviour wakened from his sleep;

He spake, and all was still.

2 The madman in a tomb had made

His mansion of despair;

Woe to the traveler who strayed,

With heedless footsteps, there.

3 He met that glance so thrilling sweet,

He heard those accents mild;

And, melting at Messiah’s feet,

Wept like a weanéd child.

4 O, madder than the raving man!

O, deafer than the sea!

How long the time since Christ began

To call in vain to me!

5 Yet could I hear him once again,

As I have heard of old,

Methinks he should not call in vain

His wanderer to the fold.

O could I speak the matchless worth,

O could I sound the glories forth,

Which in my Saviour shine;

I’d soar, and touch the heavenly strings,

And vie with Gabriel, while he sings

In notes almost divine.

2 I’d sing the precious blood he spilt,

My ransom from the dreadful guilt

Of sin, and wrath divine;

I’d sing his glorious righteousness,

In which all-perfect, heavenly dress,

My soul shall ever shine.

3 I’d sing the characters he bears,

And all the forms of love he wears,

Exalted on his throne;

In loftiest songs of sweetest praise,

I would to everlasting days

Make all his glories known.

4 Well, the delightful day will come,

When my dear Lord will bring me home,

And I shall see his face;

Then, with my Saviour, Brother, Friend,

A blest eternity I’ll spend,

Triumphant in his grace.

To the hall of that feast came the sinful and fair:

She heard in the city that Jesus was there:

Unheeding the splendor that blazed on the board,

She silently knelt at the feet of her Lord!

2 The hair on her forehead, so sad and so meek,

Hung dark on the blushes that glowed on her cheek;

And so sad and so lowly she knelt in her shame,

It seemed that her spirit had fled from her frame.

3 The frown and the murmur went round thro’ them all,

That one so unhallowed should tread in the hall;

And some said the poor would be objects more meet

For the wealth of the perfume she showered on his feet.

4 She heard but her Saviour—she spoke but in sighs,

She dared not look up to the heaven of his eyes:

And the hot tears gushed forth at each heave of her breast,

As her lips to his sandals she throbbingly pressed.

5 In the sky, after tempest, as shineth the bow,

In the glance of the sunbeam as melteth the snow,

Ho looked on the lost one—her sins were forgiven,

And Mary went forth in the beauty of heaven!

Draw near, ye weary, bowed, and broken-hearted,

Ye onward travelers to a peaceful bourne;

Ye from whose path the light hath all departed;

Ye who are left in solitude to mourn;

Though o’er your spirits hath the storm-cloud swept,

Sacred are sorrow’s tears, since “Jesus wept.”

2 The bright and spotless heir of endless glory,

Wept o’er the woes of those he came to save;

And angels wondered when they heard the story

That he who conquered death wept o’er the grave;

For ’twas not when his lonely watch he kept

In dark Gethsemane, that “Jesus wept.”

3 But with the friends he loved, whose hope had perished,

The Saviour stood, while through his bosom rushed

A tide of sympathy for those he cherished,

And from his eyes the burning tear-drops gushed;

And bending o’er the tomb where Lazarus slept,

In agony of spirit, “Jesus wept.”

4 Lo! Jesus’ power the sleep of death hath broken,

And wiped the tear from sorrow’s drooping eye!

Look up, ye mourners, hear what he hath spoken:

“He that believes on me, shall never die.”

Through faith and love your spirits shall be kept;

Hope brighter grew on earth when “Jesus wept.”

He came with his heavenly crown,

His scepter clad with power;

His coming was in feebleness,

The infant of an hour;

An humble manger cradled, first,

The Virgin’s holy birth,

And lowing herds surrounded there

The Lord of heaven and earth.

2 He came, not in his robe of wrath,

With arm outstretched to slay;

But on the darkling paths of earth,

To pour celestial day;

To guide in peace the wandering feet,

The broken heart to bind,

And bear upon the painful cross,

The sins of human kind.

3 And thou hast borne them, Saviour meek!

And therefore unto thee,

In humbleness and gratitude,

Our hearts shall offered be;

Our contrite hearts, an offering, Lord,

Which thou wilt not despise,

Our souls, our bodies, all be thine,

A living sacrifice!

Jesus wept! those tears are over,

But his heart is still the same;

Kinsman, Friend, and Elder Brother,

Is his everlasting name.

Saviour, who can love like thee?

Gracious one of Bethany!

2 When the pangs of trial seize us,

When the waves of sorrow roll,

I will lay my head on Jesus—

Pillow of the troubled soul.

Truly, none can feel like thee,

Weeping one of Bethany!

3 Jesus wept, and still in glory

He can mark each mourner’s tear—

Living to retrace the story

Of the hearts he solaced here.

Lord, when I am called to die,

Let me think of Bethany!

4 Jesus wept! that tear of sorrow

Is a legacy of love;

Yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,

He the same shall ever prove.

Thou art all in all to me,

Living one of Bethany!

O suffering Friend of human kind!

How, as the fatal hour drew near,

Came thronging on thy holy mind

The images of grief and fear!

2 Gethsemane’s sad midnight scene,

The faithless friends, th’ exulting foes,

The thorny crown, the insult keen,

The scourge, the cross, before thee rose.

3 Did not thy spirit shrink dismayed,

As the dark vision o’er it came;

And, though in sinless strength arrayed,

Turn, shuddering, from the death of shame?

4 Onward, like thee, through scorn and dread,

May we our Father’s call obey,

Steadfast thy path of duty tread,

And rise, through death, to endless day.

The morning dawns upon the place

Where Jesus spent the night in prayer;

Through yielding glooms behold his face!

Nor form, nor comeliness is there.

2 Brought forth to judgment, now he stands

Arraigned, condemned, at Pilate’s bar;

Here, spurned by fierce pretorian bands;

There, mocked by Herod’s men of war.

3 He bears their buffeting and scorn—

Mock-homage of the lip, the knee—

The purple robe, the crown of thorn—

The scourge, the nail, the accursed tree.

4 No guile within his mouth is found;

He neither threatens nor complains;

Meek as a lamb for slaughter bound,

Dumb ’mid his murderers he remains.

5 But hark, he prays; ’tis for his foes

And speaks: ’tis comfort to his friends;

Answers: and paradise bestows;

He bows his head: the conflict ends.

’Tis midnight; and on Olive’s brow

The star is dimmed that lately shone;

’Tis midnight; in the garden now,

The suffering Saviour prays alone.

2 ’Tis midnight; and, from all removed,

The Saviour wrestles lone, with fears;

E’en that disciple whom he loved

Heeds not his Master’s grief and tears.

3 ’Tis midnight; and for others’ guilt

The man of sorrows weeps in blood;

Yet he that hath in anguish knelt

Is not forsaken by his God.

4 ’Tis midnight; from the heavenly plains

Is borne the song that angels know;

Unheard by mortals are the strains

That sweetly soothe the Saviour’s woe.

Dark was the night, and cold the ground

On which the Lord was laid:

His sweat like drops of blood ran down;

In agony he prayed.

2 “Father, remove this bitter cup,

If such thy sacred will;

If not, content to drink it up,

Thy pleasure I fulfill.”

3 Go to the garden, sinner: see

Those precious drops that flow;

The heavy load he bore for thee:

For thee he lies so low.

4 Then learn of him the cross to bear,

Thy Father’s will obey;

And, when temptations press thee near,

Awake to watch and pray.

Did Christ o’er sinners weep,

And shall our cheeks be dry?

Let tears of penitential grief

Flow forth from every eye.

2 The Son of God in tears,

The wondering angels see;

Be thou astonished, O my soul,

He shed those tears for thee.

3 He wept that we might weep,

Each sin demands a tear,

In heaven alone no sin is found

And there’s no weeping there.

Go to dark Gethsemane,

Ye that feel the tempter’s power;

Your Redeemer’s conflict see;

Watch with him one bitter hour:

Turn not from his griefs away;

Learn of Jesus Christ to pray.

2 Follow to the judgment hall:

View the Lord of life arraigned;

O, the wormwood and the gall!

O, the pangs his soul sustained!

Shun not suffering, shame, or loss;

Learn of him to bear the cross.

3 Calvary’s mournful mountain climb;

There, admiring at his feet,

Mark that miracle of time,

God’s own sacrifice complete:

“It is finished,” hear him cry;

Learn of Jesus Christ to die.

Night with ebon pinion,

Brooded o’er the vale;

All around was silent,

Save the night-wind’s wail;

When Christ the man of sorrows,

In tears, and sweat, and blood,

Prostrate in the garden,

Raised his voice to God.

2 Smitten for offenses

Which were not his own,

He, for our transgressions,

Had to weep alone,

No friend with words to comfort,

Nor hand to help was there.

When the meek and lowly,

Humbly bowed in prayer.

3 Abba, Father, Father!

If indeed it may,

Let this cup of anguish,

Pass from me, I pray.

Yet, if it must be suffered,

By me, thine only Son,

Abba, Father, Father,

Let thy will be done.

Beyond where Cedron’s waters flow,

Behold the suffering Saviour go

To sad Gethsemane;

His countenance is all divine,

Yet grief appears in every line.

2 He bows beneath the sins of men;

He cries to God, and cries again,

In sad Gethsemane:

He lifts his mournful eyes above—

“My Father, can this cup remove?”

3 With gentle resignation still,

He yielded to his Father’s will

In sad Gethsemane;

“Behold me here, thine only Son;

And, Father, let thy will be done.”

4 The Father heard; and angels, there,

Sustained the Son of God in prayer,

In sad Gethsemane:

He drank the dreadful cup of pain—

Then rose to life and joy again.

5 When storms of sorrow round us sweep,

And scenes of anguish make us weep,

To sad Gethsemane

We’ll look, and see the Saviour there,

And humbly bow, like him, in prayer.

He knelt; the Saviour knelt and prayed,

When but his Father’s eye

Looked, through the lonely garden shade,

On that dread agony;

The Lord of high and heavenly birth

Was bowed with sorrow unto death.

2 The sun went down in fearful hour;

The heavens might well grow dim,

When this mortality had power

Thus to o’ershadow him;

That he who came to save might know

The very depths of human woe.

3 He knew them all—the doubt, the strife,

The faint, perplexing dread;

The mists that hang o’er parting life

All darkened round his head;

And the Deliverer knelt to pray;

Yet passed it not, that cup, away.

4 It passed not, though the stormy wave

Had sunk beneath his tread;

It passed not, though to him the grave

Had yielded up its dead;

But there was sent him, from on high,

A gift of strength, for man to die.

5 And was his mortal hour beset

With anguish and dismay?

How may we meet our conflict yet

In the dark, narrow way?

How, but through him that path who trod:

“Save, or we perish, Son of God.”

Among the mountain trees,

The winds were whispering low,

And night’s ten thousand harmonies

Were harmonies of woe;

A voice of grief was on the gale,

It came from Cedron’s gloomy vale.

2 It was the Saviour’s prayer

That on the silence broke,

Imploring strength from heaven to bear

The sin-avenging stroke,

As in Gethsemane he knelt,

And pangs unknown his bosom felt.

3 The fitful starlight shone

In dim and misty gleams,

Deep was his agonizing groan,

And large the vital streams

That trickled to the dewy sod,

While Jesus raised his voice to God.

4 The chosen three that staid,

Their nightly watch to keep,

Left him through sorrows deep to wade,

And gave themselves to sleep:

Meekly and sad he prayed alone;

Strangely forgotten by his own.

5 Along the streamlet’s bank

The reckless traitor came,

And heavy on his bosom sank

The load of guilt and shame;

Yet unto them that waited nigh

He gave the Lamb of God to die.

6 Among the mountain trees

The winds were whispering low,

And night’s ten thousand harmonies

Were harmonies of woe;

For cruel voices filled the gale

That came from Cedron’s gloomy vale.

Thou sweet gliding Cedron, by thy silver stream

Our Saviour would linger in moonlight’s soft beam:

And by thy bright waters till midnight would stay,

And lose in thy murmurs the toils of the day.

CHORUS.

Come, saints, and adore him; come bow at his feet;

O give him the glory, the praise that is meet;

Let joyful hosannas unceasing arise,

And join the full chorus that gladdens the skies.

2 How damp were the vapors that fell on his head,

How hard was his pillow, how humble his bed;

The angels beholding, amazed at the sight,

Attended their Master with solemn delight.

3 O garden of Olives! thou dear honored spot,

The fame of thy wonders shall ne’er be forgot;

The theme most transporting to seraphs above,

The triumph of sorrow, the triumph of love!

From Calvary a cry was heard—

A bitter and heart-rending cry:

My Saviour! every mournful word

Bespeaks thy soul’s deep agony.

2 A horror of great darkness fell

On thee, thou spotless holy One!

And all the swarming hosts of hell

Conspired to tempt God’s only Son.

3 The scourge, the thorns, the deep disgrace—

These thou couldst bear, nor once repine;

But when Jehovah vailed his face,

Unutterable pangs were thine.

4 Let the dumb world its silence break;

Let pealing anthems rend the sky;

Awake, my sluggish soul, awake!

He died, that we might never die.

5 Lord! on thy cross I fix mine eye;

If e’er I lose its strong control,

O! let that dying, piercing cry,

Melt and reclaim my wandering soul.

O Lord! when faith with fixéd eyes

Beholds thy wondrous sacrifice,

Love rises to an ardent flame,

And we all other hope disclaim.

2 With cold affections who can see

The thorns, the scourge, the nails, the tree,

The flowing tears and crimson sweat,

The bleeding hands, and head, and feet?

3 Jesus, what millions of our race

Have seen the triumphs of thy grace!

And millions more to thee shall fly,

And on thy sacrifice rely.

4 The sorrow, shame, and death, were thine,

And all the stores of wrath divine!

Ours are the pardon, life, and bliss;

What love can be compared to this!

Have we no tears to shed for him,

While soldiers scoff, and Jews deride?

Ah! look, how patiently he hangs—

Jesus, our Love, is crucified!

2 What was thy crime, my dearest Lord?

By earth, by heaven, thou hast been tried,

And guilty found of too much love;

Jesus, our Love, is crucified!

3 Found guilty of excess of love,

It was thine own sweet will that tied

Thee tighter far than helpless nails;

Jesus, our Love, is crucified!

4 O break, O break, hard heart of mine!

Thy weak self-love and guilty pride

His Pilate and his Judas were;

Jesus, our Love, is crucified!

Behold the Man! how glorious he!

Before his foes he stands unawed,

And, without wrong or blasphemy,

He claims equality with God.

2 Behold the Man! by all condemned,

Assaulted by a host of foes;

His person and his claims contemned:

A Man of suffering and of woes.

3 Behold the Man! he stands alone,

His foes are ready to devour;

Not one of all his friends will own

Their Master in this trying hour.

4 Behold the Man! though scorned below,

He bears the greatest name above;

The angels at his footstool bow,

And all his royal claims approve.

He dies, the friend of winners dies!

Lo! Salem’s daughters weep around!

A solemn darkness vails the skies,

A sudden trembling shakes the ground.

2 Here’s love and grief beyond degree!

The Lord of glory dies for men!

But, lo! what sudden joys we see—

Jesus the dead revives again!

3 The rising Lord forsakes the tomb!

(The tomb in vain forbids his rise!)

Cherubic legions guard him home,

And shout him welcome to the skies!

4 Break off your tears, you saints, and tell

How high our great Deliverer reigns;

Sing how he spoiled the hosts of hell,

And led the monster Death in chains.

5 Say, “Live for ever, wondrous King!

Born to redeem, and strong to save!”

Then ask the monster, “Where’s thy sting?

And where’s thy victory, boasting grave?”

And did the holy and the just,

The Sovereign of the skies,

Stoop down to wretchedness and dust

That guilty man might rise?

2 Yes, the Redeemer left his throne,

His radiant throne on high;

Surpassing mercy! love unknown!

To suffer, bleed, and die.

3 He took the dying rebel’s place,

And suffered in our stead;

For sinful man, O wondrous grace!

For sinful man he bled!

4 O Lord! what heavenly wonders dwell

In thy most precious blood?

By this are sinners saved from hell,

And rebels brought to God.

We sing the Saviour’s wondrous death—

He conquered when he fell:

’Tis finished, said his dying breath,

And shook the gates of hell.

2 ’Tis finished, our Immanuel cries,

The dreadful work is done;

Hence shall his sovereign throne arise,

His kingdom is begun.

3 His cross a sure foundation laid

For glory and renown,

When through the regions of the dead

He passed to reach the crown.

4 Raise your devotion, mortal tongues,

His praises to record;

Sweet be the accents of your songs

To your victorious Lord.

5 Bright angels, strike your loudest strings,

Your sweetest voices raise;

Let heaven and all created things

Sound our Immanuel’s praise!

Behold the Saviour of mankind

Nailed to the shameful tree!

How vast the love that him inclined

To bleed and die for me!

2 Hark! how he groans, while nature shakes,

And earth’s strong pillars bend!

The temple’s vail asunder breaks,

The solid marbles rend.

3 ’Tis finished! now the ransom’s paid,

“Receive my soul!” he cries:

See—how he bows his sacred head!

He bows his head and dies!

4 But soon from death he’ll rise again,

And in full glory shine;

O Lamb of God! was ever pain—

Was ever love like thine?

As on the cross the Saviour hung,

And groaned, and bled, and died,

He looked with pity on a wretch

That languished by his side.

2 The dying thief in Jesus saw

A majesty divine;

While scoffing Jews around him stood,

And asked him for a sign!

3 The kingdom, Lord, is thine, he said;

’Tis thine o’er men to reign:

Thy wondrous works thy lordship prove,

These pains thy love proclaim:

4 Honors divine await thee soon,

A scepter and a crown:

With shame thy foes shall yet behold

Thee seated on a throne.

5 Then, gracious Lord, remember me!

Is not forgiveness thine?

My crimes have brought me to thy side—

Thy love brought thee to mine!

6 His prayer the dying Jesus hears,

And instantly replies,

To-day your parting soul shall be

With me in paradise.

O sacred head, now wounded,

With grief and shame weighed down—

O sacred brow, surrounded

With thorns, thine only crown:

Once on a throne of glory,

Adorned with light divine;

Now all despised and gory,

I joy to call thee mine.

2 On me, as thou art dying,

O, turn thy pitying eye;

To thee for mercy crying,

Before thy cross I lie.

Thine, thine the bitter passion;

Thy pain is all for me;

Mine, mine the deep transgression;

My sins are all on thee.

3 What language can I borrow

To praise thee, heavenly Friend,

For all this dying sorrow,

Of all my woes the end?

O, can I leave thee ever?

Then do not thou leave me;

Lord, let me never, never

Outlive my love to thee.

4 Be near when I am dying;

Then close beside me stand;

Let me, while faint and sighing,

Lean calmly on thy hand:

These eyes, new faith receiving,

From thee shall never move,

For he who dies believing,

Dies safely—in thy love.

Hark! the voice of love and mercy

Sounds aloud from Calvary;

See! it rends the rocks asunder,

Shakes the earth and vails the sky!

It is finished!

Hear the dying Saviour cry.

2 It is finished! O what pleasure

Do these precious words afford!

Heavenly blessings without measure

Flow to us from Christ the Lord;

It is finished!

Saints, the dying words record.

3 Finished all the types and shadows

Of the ceremonial law!

Finished all that God had promised;

Death and hell no more shall awe:

It is finished!

Saints, from this your comfort draw.

4 Tune your harps anew, you seraphs,

Join to sing the pleasing theme;

All on earth and all in heaven,

Join to praise Immanuel’s name:

Hallelujah!

Glory to the bleeding Lamb!

The Son of Man they did betray;

He was condemned, and led away,

Think, O my soul, on that dread day,

Look on Mount Calvary;

Behold him, lamb-like, led along

Surrounded by a wicked throng,

Accused by every lying tongue,

And then the Lamb of God they hung

Upon the shameful tree.

2 Now, hung between the earth and skies,

Behold! in agony he dies;

O sinners, hear his mournful cries,

Come, see his torturing pain!

The morning sun withdrew his light,

Blushed, and refused to view the sight,

The azure clothed in robes of night,

All nature mourned, and stood affright,

When Christ the Lord was slain.

3 All glory be to God on high,

Who reigns enthroned above the sky;

Who sent his Son to bleed and die;

Glory to him be given:

While heaven above his praise resounds,

O Zion, sing—his grace abounds;

I hope to shout eternal rounds,

In flaming love that knows no bounds,

When glorified in heaven.