O per­fect God, Thy love
As per­fect Man did share
Here up­on earth each form of ill
Thy fel­low men must bear.

Now from the tree of scorn
We hear Thy voice again;
Thou who didst take our mor­tal flesh
Hast felt our mor­tal pain.

Thy bo­dy suf­fers thirst,
Parched are Thy lips and dry:
How poor the of­fer­ing man can bring
Thy thirst to sa­tis­fy!

O Sav­ior, by Thy thirst
Borne on the cross of shame,
Grant us in all our suf­fer­ings leave
To glo­ri­fy Thy name.

That through each pain and grief
Our souls may on­ward move
To gain more like­ness to Thy life,
More know­ledge of Thy love.