cred Head, now wound-ed, With grief and shame weighed down,

Now scorn-ful - ly sur rounded With thorns, Thine only crown;

Stricken, smit-ten, and af flicted, See Him dying

"Tis the Christ by man rejected; Yes, my soul, 'tis He, 'tis He!

2 Alas! my Savior, who could dare
Bid Thee such bitter anguish bear?
What evil heart ill-treat Thee thus?
For Thou art good, hast wrongéd none,
As we and ours too oft have done;

Thou hast not sinned, dear Lord, like us.
3 My grievous sins, that number more
Than yonder sands upon the shore,
Have brought to pass this agony:
'Tis I have caused the floods of woe,
That now Thy soul in death o'erflow,
And those sad hearts that watch by Thee

318 C. M.

4 'Tis I to whom these pains belong;
'Tis I should suffer for my wrong,

Bound hand and foot in heavy chains:
Thy scourge, Thy fetters, whatsoe'er
Thou bearest, 'tis my soul should bear,
For I have well deserved such pains.
5 Lord, from Thy sorrows I will learn
How fiercely wrath divine doth burn,
How terribly its thunders roll;
How sorely this our loving God
Can smite with His avenging rod;

How deep His floods o'erwhelm the soul.

6 And I will nail me to Thy cross,

And learn to count all things but dross,
Wherein the flesh doth pleasure take;
Whate'er is hateful in Thine eyes,
With all the strength that in me lies,
Will I cast from me and forsake.

7 Thy heavy groans, Thy bitter sighs,
The tears that from Thy dying eyes
Were shed when Thou wast sore oppressed,
Shall be with me, when at the last

Myself on Thee I wholly cast,
And enter with Thee into rest.

P. Gerhardt, 1648

2 Was it for crimes that I had done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

3 Well might the sun in darkness hide,
And shut his glories in,

When God, the mighty Maker, died
For man,the creature's sin!

4 Thus might I hide my blushing face,
While His dear cross appears;
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness!
And melt my eyes to tears.

5 But drops of grief can ne'er repay
The debt of love I owe.

Here, Lord, I give myself away: "Tis all that I can do.

I. Watts 1707

my life the life, O Jesus! Of my death the death al- so;

Who hast given Thy-self to ease us From our load of guilt and woe:

By Thy death our ran-som buy - ing, And pre-serv-ing us from dy-ing,

Thousand, thousand thanks to Thee, Blessed Jesus! ever be.