O scorned and out­cast Lord, be­neath
Thy bur­den meek­ly bend­ing,
Thou, our true Is­aac, to Thy death
Art wea­ri­ly as­cend­ing.

And soon, with nail pierced feet and hands
Upon the cross they raise Thee;
The cross, which there up­lift­ed stands,
To all the earth dis­plays Thee.

Oh! won­drous love of God on high
The sin­ful thus to cher­ish!
He gave His guilt­less Son to die
Lest guil­ty man should per­ish.

Our sin’s pol­lu­tion to re­move
His blood was free­ly giv­en;
So migh­ty was the Sav­ior’s love
So just the wrath of Heav­en.

Yes! ’tis the cross the breaks the rod
And chain of con­dem­na­tion,
And makes a league ’twixt man and God
For our en­tire sal­va­tion.

O praise the Fa­ther, praise the Son,
The Lamb for sin­ners giv­en,
And Ho­ly Ghost, through whom alone
Our hearts are raised to Heav­en.