Cross of Je­sus, cross of sor­row,
Where the blood of Christ was shed,
Perfect Man on thee did suf­fer,
Perfect God on thee has bled!

Here the king of all the ag­es,
Throned in light ere worlds could be,
Robed in mor­tal flesh is dying,
Crucified by sin for me.

O mys­te­ri­ous con­des­cend­ing!
O aban­don­ment sub­lime!
Very God Him­self is bear­ing
All the suf­fer­ings of time!

Evermore for hu­man fail­ure
By His pass­ion we can plead;
God has born all mor­tal ang­uish,
Surely He will know our need.

This—all hu­man thought sur­pass­ing—
This is earth’s most aw­ful hour,
God has tak­en mor­tal weak­ness!
God has laid aside His pow­er!

Once the Lord of bril­liant se­raphs,
Winged with love to do His will,
Now the scorn of all His crea­tures,
And the aim of ev­ery ill.

Up in Hea­ven, sub­lim­est glo­ry
Circled round Him from the first;
But the earth finds none to serve Him,
None to quench His rag­ing thirst.

Who shall fa­thom that des­cend­ing,
From the rain­bow cir­cled throne,
Down to earth’s most base pro­fan­ing,
Dying de­so­late alone.

From the Ho­ly, Ho­ly, Ho­ly,
We adore Thee, O most High,
Down to earth’s blas­phem­ing voic­es
And the shout of Cru­ci­fy.

Cross of Je­sus, cross of sor­row,
Where the blood of Christ was shed,
Perfect Man on thee did suf­fer,
Perfect God on thee has bled!