Christ, the Life of all the liv­ing,
Christ the Death of death, our foe,
Who Thy­self for us once giv­ing
To the dark­est depths of woe,
Patiently didst yield Thy breath
But to save my soul from death;
Praise and glo­ry ev­er be,
Blessèd Je­sus, un­to Thee.

Thou, O Christ, hast tak­en on Thee
Bitter strokes, a cru­el rod;
Pain and scorn were heaped up­on Thee,
O Thou sin­less Son of God,
Only thus for me to win
Rescue from the bonds of sin;
Praise and glo­ry ev­er be,
Blessèd Je­sus, un­to Thee.

Thou didst bear the smit­ing on­ly
That it might not fall on me;
Stoodest false­ly charged and lone­ly
That I might be safe and free;
Comfortless that I might know
Comfort from Thy bound­less woe.
Praise and glo­ry ev­er be,
Blessèd Je­sus, un­to Thee.

Heartless scoff­ers did sur­round Thee,
Treating Thee with shame­ful scorn
And with pierc­ing thorns they crowned Thee,
All dis­grace Thou, Lord, hast borne
That as Thine Thou might­est own me
And with hea­ven­ly glo­ry crown me.
Thousand, thou­sand thanks shall be,
Dearest Je­sus, un­to Thee.

Thou hast suf­fered men to bruise Thee
That from pain I might be free;
Falsely did Thy foes ac­cuse Thee,
Thence I gain se­cu­ri­ty;
Comfortless Thy soul did lang­uish
Me to com­fort in my ang­uish.
Thousand, thou­sand thanks shall be,
Dearest Je­sus, un­to Thee.

Thou hast suf­fered great af­flict­ion,
And hast borne it pa­tient­ly,
Even death by cru­ci­fix­ion,
Fully to atone for me;
Thou didst choose to be tor­ment­ed
That my doom should be pre­vent­ed.
Thousand, thou­sand thanks shall be,
Dearest Je­sus, un­to Thee.

Then, for all that wrought our par­don,
For Thy sor­rows deep and sore,
For Thine ang­uish in the gar­den,
I will thank Thee ev­er­more;
Thank Thee with my lat­est breath
For Thy sad and cru­el death,
For that last and bit­ter cry
Praise Thee ev­er­more on high.