Stricken, smit­ten, and af­flict­ed,
See Him dy­ing on the tree!
’Tis the Christ by man re­ject­ed;
Yes, my soul, ’tis He, ’tis He!
’Tis the long ex­pect­ed pro­phet,
David’s Son, yet Da­vid’s Lord;
Proofs I see suf­fi­cient of it:
’Tis a true and faith­ful Word.

Tell me, ye who hear Him groan­ing,
Was there ev­er grief like His?
Friends through fear His cause dis­own­ing,
Foes in­sult­ing his dis­tress:
Many hands were raised to wound Him,
None would in­ter­pose to save;
But the deep­est stroke that pierced Him
Was the stroke that Jus­tice gave.

Ye who think of sin but light­ly,
Nor sup­pose the ev­il great,
Here may view its na­ture right­ly,
Here its guilt may es­ti­mate.
Mark the sac­ri­fice ap­point­ed!
See who bears the aw­ful load!
’Tis the Word, the Lord’s anoint­ed,
Son of Man, and Son of God.

Here we have a firm foun­da­tion,
Here the re­fuge of the lost.
Christ the rock of our sal­va­tion,
Christ the name of which we boast.
Lamb of God for sin­ners wound­ed!
Sacrifice to can­cel guilt!
None shall ev­er be con­found­ed
Who on Him their hope have built.