Cleft are the rocks, the earth doth quake,
The slum­ber­ers of the grave awake;
The tem­ple’s veil is rent in twain;
For Christ our sac­ri­fice is slain,
And bears of sin and death the pain.

Lo, na­ture’s face of beam­ing light
She veils in dark­ness at the sight
Of Him, her God, the Cru­ci­fied!
’Tis man alone that dares de­ride
The Sav­ior who for him hath died.

Despisèd is the Man of Grief,
Rejected, and de­nied be­lief,
By them whose sor­rows He hath borne,
For whose trans­gress­ions He is torn,
Whose mor­tal weak­ness He hath worn.

The Migh­ty One, the Son of God,
Hath hum­bly kissed af­flict­ion’s rod,
That by His stripes we might be healed,
Our par­don by His blood be sealed,
And bound­less mercy stand re­vealed.

We all, like sheep, have gone as­tray,
And turned aside from wis­dom’s way,
But He hath saved us from our sin;
Our God the ran­som-Lamb hath been,
Our God hath saved us from our sin!

Oh let us cast each vice away,
Which thus the Son of God would slay!
With con­trite heart and weep­ing eye
Behold the Sav­ior’s cross on high
And ev­ery sin and fol­ly fly!

So may we join the song of love
Which saints and an­gels sing ab­ove;
All hon­or, glo­ry, praise to Thee,
Which wert and art and art to be,
The Lamb slain from eter­ni­ty!