Extended on a curs­èd tree,
Besmeared with dust, and sweat, and blood,
See there, the King of Glo­ry see!
Sinks and ex­pires the Son of God.

Who, who, my Sav­ior, this hath done?
Who could Thy sac­red bo­dy wound?
No guilt Thy spot­less heart hath known,
No guile hath in Thy lips been found.

I, I alone, have done the deed!
’Tis I Thy sac­red flesh have torn;
My sins have caused Thee, Lord, to bleed,
Pointed the nail, and fixed the thorn.

For me, the bur­den, to sus­tain
Too great, on Thee, my Lord, was laid;
To heal me, Thou hast borne my pain;
To bless me, Thou a curse wast made.

In the de­vour­ing li­on’s teeth,
Torn, and for­sook of all, I lay;
Thou sprang’st in­to the jaws of death,
From death to save the help­less prey.

My Sav­ior, how shall I pro­claim?
How pay the migh­ty debt I owe?
Let all I have, and all I am,
Ceaseless to all Thy glo­ry show.

Too much to Thee I can­not give;
Too much I can­not do for Thee;
Let all Thy love, and all Thy grief,
Graven on my heart for ev­er be!

The meek, the still, the low­ly mind,
O may I learn from Thee, my God,
And love, with soft­est pity joined,
For those that tram­ple on Thy blood!

Still let Thy tears, Thy groans, Thy sighs,
O’erflow my eyes, and heave my breast,
Till loose from flesh and earth I rise,
And ev­er in Thy bosom rest.