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AH

H, holy Jesus, how hast Thou offended,

That man to judge Thee hath in hate pretended ? By foes derided, by Thine own rejected,

0 most afflicted!

2 Who was the guilty ? who brought this upon Thee?

Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone Thee; 'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied Thee,

I crucified Thee.

3 For me, kind Jesus, was Thine incarnation,

Thy mortal sorrow, and Thy life's oblation;
Thy death of anguish and Thy bitter passion,

For my salvation.

4 Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay Thee,

I do adore Thee, and will ever pray Thee
Think on Thy pity and Thy love unswerving,
Not my deserving.

From Anselm (xi C.,) J. Herrmann, 16-30;

tr. The Yattendon Hymnal, 1899

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A - men.

From the burn-ing of the noon-tide heat, And the bur- den of the day.

be

1

1
BENEATH the cross of Jesus

I fain would take my stand,
The shadow of a mighty rock

Within a weary land,
A home within the wilderness,

A rest upon the way,
From the burning of the noontide heat,

And the burden of the day. 2 Upon that cross of Jesus

Mine eye at times can see The very dying form of One

Who suffered there for me;

And from my smitten heart with tears

Two wonders I confess, –
The wonders of His glorious love

And my own worthlessness. 3 I take, O) cross, thy shadow

For my abiding-place;
I ask no other sunshine than

The sunshine of His face,
Content to let the world go by,

To know no gain nor loss,
My sinful self my only shame,
My glory all the cross.

Elizabeth C. Clephane, 1830-69

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1 SACRED Head, now wounded,

With grief and shame weighed down, Now scornfully surrounded

With thorns, Thy only crown! How art Thou pale with anguish,

With sore abuse and scorn! How does that visage languish

Which once was bright as morn!
2 What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered

Was all for sinners' gain:
Mine, mine was the transgression,

But Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Saviour!

'Tis I deserve Thy place, Look on me with Thy favor,

Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

3 What languge shall I borrow

To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this, Thy dying sorrow,

Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever,

And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never

Outlive my love to Thee.
4 Be near me when I'm dying,

O show Thy cross to me;
And for my succor flying,

Come, Lord, and set me free.
These eyes new faith receiving,

From Jesus shall not move,
For he, who dies believing,
Dies safely through Thy love.

Bernard of Clairvanx 1091-1153;
Paul Gerhardt, 1656; tr. J. W. Alexander, 1830, 49

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1 IN the cross of Christ I glory, ,

Towering o'er the wrecks of time; All the light of sacred story

Gathers round its head sublime,

2 When the woes of life o'ertake me,

Hopes deceive, and fears annoy, Never shall the cross forsake me:

Lo! it glows with peace and joy.

3 When the sun of bliss is beaming

Light and love upon my way, From the cross the radiance streaming

Adds more lustre to the day.

4 Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure,

By the cross are sanctified; Peace is there that knows no measure,

Joys that through all time abide.

5 In the cross of Christ I glory,

Towering o'er the wrecks of time;
All the light of sacred story
Gathers round its head sublime.

John Bowring, 1825

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