Dying Cre­at­or, slaugh­tered Lamb,
Thou hast poured out Thy blood for me;
O may I, kin­dled by Thy flame,
As free­ly give my­self to Thee!
My heart to Thee I now re­sign,
For, Lord, it cost the blood of Thine!

To save my fall­ing soul from death
Th’immaculate Re­deem­er died;
Lord, my of­fens­es drove the nails,
The sol­dier, I, that pierced Thy side:
For this my rest­less eye runs o’er
Because I can la­ment no more.

How glad­ly should my head have worn
The crown of thorns to hin­der Thine!
Have suf­fered in my Mas­ter’s stead,
And made Thy dying sor­rows mine!
Have stretched my arms up­on the tree,
And died my­self to res­cue Thee!

But O! no other sac­ri­fice
The Fa­ther’s jus­tice could ap­pease;
Ten thou­sand worlds had died in vain,
Thy blood alone could buy our peace:
The God of­fend­ed must be slain
To e­xpi­ate th’of­fense of man!

And shall I not His cross take up
Who died up­on a cross for me?
Jesus, through good and ill re­port,
I, in Thy strength, will fol­low Thee:
My Mas­ter lived des­pised, ab­horred,
And I am not ab­ove my Lord.

The world com­bined, with one con­sent,
To tram­ple on the Great Supreme;
The ve­ry God of ve­ry God,
A man of sor­rows here became,
And all who seek in Heav’n to reign,
Must en­ter through the gate of pain.