Throned up­on the aw­ful tree,
Lamb of God, Your grief I see.
Darkness veils Your ang­uished face;
None its lines of woe can trace.
None can tell what pangs un­known
Hold You si­lent and alone.

Silent through those three dread hours,
Wrestling with the ev­il pow­ers,
Left alone with hu­man sin,
Gloom around You and with­in,
Till the ap­point­ed time is nigh,
Til the Lamb of God may die.

Hark, that cry that peals aloud
Upward through the whelm­ing cloud!
You, the Fa­ther’s on­ly Son,
You, His own an­oint­ed One,
You are ask­ing can it be
Why have You for­sak­en Me?

Lord, should fear and ang­uish roll,
Darkly o’er my sin­ful soul,
You, who once were thus be­reft
That Your own might ne’er be left,
Teach me by that bit­ter cry
In the gloom to know You nigh.