My Sav­ior! I be­hold Thy life
Of not one smile and ma­ny tears;
I mark the spir­it­ual strife,
Thy hu­man woes, Thy hu­man fears,
And cry, Was ev­er grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?

I watch Thine ago­niz­ing hour,
I see Thee by Thine own be­trayed,
Alone in Pi­late’s cra­ven pow­er,
And scourged and scorn­ful­ly ar­rayed,
And cry, Was ev­er grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?

I see Thee faint­ing on Thy way,
Reviled and mock­ed of all the throng,
I hear the bit­ter words they say,
The ab­ject’s sneer, the drunk­ard’s song,
And cry, Was ev­er grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?

That sin in ev­ery taunt I hear,
And see in ev­ery look of scorn;
It is the cross which Thou dost bear,
The sharp­ness of Thy crown of thorn:
Dear Lord, Was ev­er grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?

My Sav­ior, I be­hold Thy death,
I hear Thy cries, Thy last words sev­en,
I see the scowl­ing gaze be­neath,
Above, the dark­ened face of Hea­ven,
And cry, Was ev­er grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?

My Sav­ior, I be­hold Thy grave
In that still gar­den’s awful gloom,
I see Thee ly­ing there to save
My soul from an eter­nal tomb,
And cry, Was ev­er grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?

And yet with all I hear and see
Of death, or pass­ion of Thy life,
Sweet hopes are min­is­tered to me
And voic­es fall with com­fort rife,
That say, Be­cause He lived and died,
From sin thou canst be pu­ri­fied!