In the Lord’s aton­ing grief
Be our rest and sweet re­lief;
Store we deep in heart’s re­cess
All the shame and bit­ter­ness.

Thorns, and cross, and nails, and lance,
Wounds, our trea­sure that en­hance,
Vinegar, and gall, and reed,
And the pang His soul that freed.

May these all our spir­its sate,
And with love ine­bri­ate;
In our souls plant vir­tue’s root,
And ma­ture its glo­ri­ous fruit.

Crucified! we Thee adore,
Thee with all our hearts im­plore;
Us with saint­ly hands unite
In the realms of hea­ven­ly light.

Christ, by cow­ard hands be­trayed,
Christ, for us a cap­tive made,
Christ, up­on the bit­ter tree
Slain for man, be praise to Thee.