My Lord, my Master,
At Thy feet adoring,
I see Thee bowed
Beneath Thy load of woe;
For me, a sinner,
Is Thy life blood pouring;
For Thee, my Savior,
Scarce my tears will flow.

Thine own disciple
To the Jews has sold Thee,
With friendship’s kiss
And loyal word he came;
How oft of faithful
Love my lips have told Thee,
While Thou hast seen
My falsehood and my shame.

With taunts and scoffs
They mock what seems Thy weakness,
With blows and outrage
Adding pain to pain;
Thou art unmoved
And steadfast in Thy meekness;
When I am wronged
How quickly I complain!

My Lord, my Savior,
When I see Thee wearing
Upon Thy bleeding
Brow the crown of thorn,
Shall I for pleasure live,
Or shrink from bearing
Whate’er my lot
May be of pain or scorn?

O Victim of Thy love,
O pangs most healing,
O saving death,
O wounds that I adore,
O shame most glorious!
Christ, before Thee kneeling,
I pray Thee keep
Me Thine for evermore.