O Je­sus our head, who hast died in our stead,
Thy pro­mise of faith and re­pent­ance we plead,
Now let it take place, pour out on our race
The spir­it of pray­er, and con­tri­tion and praise.

While thus we re­cord our cru­ci­fied Lord,
Be mind­ful of us, and ac­comp­lish Thy word.
Thy pro­mise is past, we shall see Thee at last,
Our souls on Thy bloody atone­ment be cast.

Stretched out on the tree, Thou saidst, They shall see,
My mur­der­ers sure­ly shall look up­on Me.
The stones shall re­lent, the rocks shall be rent,
And hearts more ob­dur­ate than mar­ble la­ment.

Now then let us turn, to Je­ho­vah’s first-born
And look up­on Thee we have wound­ed, and mourn,
In bit­ter­ness cry that the Prince of the sky
God’s on­ly be­got­ten, we doomed Him to die.

Our sins were the cause of His sor­row and loss;
By our sins we pur­sued Him and nailed to the cross;
We in­flict­ed the pain; we have pierced Him again;
And O! shall He suf­fer so oft­en in vain?

The sense of Thy smart, O Je­sus, im­part,
And break by Thy death the in­flex­ible heart:
Thy pass­ion alone can make us atone;
Appear in Thy wounds, and our heart is Thine own.