Stretched on the cross, the Sav­ior dies,
Hark! His expiring groans arise!
See, from His hands, His feet, His side,
Runs down sacred crimson tide!

But life attends the deathful sound,
And flows from every bleeding wound;
The vital stream, how free it flows,
To save and cleanse His rebel foes!

To suffer in the traitor’s place,
To die for man, surprising grace!
Yet pass rebellious angels by—
O why for man, dear Sav­ior, why?

And didst Thou bleed? for sinners bleed?
And could the sun behold the deed?
No, he withdrew his sickening ray,
And darkness veiled the mourning day.

Can I survey this scene of woe,
Where mingling grief and wonder flow,
And yet my heart unmoved remain,
Insensible to love or pain!

Come, dearest Lord, Thy power impart,
To warm this cold, this stupid heart,
Till all its powers and passions move,
In melting grief and ardent love.