O show me not my Sav­ior dy­ing,
As on the cross He bled;
Nor in the tomb, a cap­tive ly­ing,
For He has left the dead.
Then bid me not that form ex­tend­ed
For my Re­deem­er own,
Who, to the high­est hea­vens as­cend­ed,
In glo­ry fills the throne.

Weep not for Him at Cal­va­ry’s sta­tion,
Weep on­ly for thy sins;
View where He lay with ex­ul­ta­tion,
’Tis there our hope be­gins.
Yet stay not there, thy sor­rows feed­ing,
Amid the scenes He trod;
Look up, and see Him in­ter­ced­ing
At the right hand of God.

Still in the shame­ful cross I glo­ry,
Where His dear blood was spilt:
His shame­ful cross, set forth be­fore me,
Hath can­celed all my guilt.
Yet what, ’mid con­flict and temp­ta­tion,
Shall strength and hon­or give?
He lives, the Cap­tain of Sal­va­tion,
Therefore His ser­vants live.

By death, He death’s dark king de­feat­ed,
And ov­er­came the grave:
Rising, the tri­umph He com­plet­ed;
He lives, he reigns to save.
Heaven’s hap­py my­ri­ads bow be­fore Him:
He comes, the Judge of men:
These eyes shall see Him, and adore Him,
Lord Je­sus, own me then.