1 Ye that pass by behold the man,
The man of grief condemn'd for you;
The Lamb of God for sinner's slain,
Weeping to Calvary pursue.
2 His sacred limbs they stretch, they tear,
With nails they fasten to the wood--
His sacred limbs expos'd and bare,
Or only cover'd with his blood.
3 See there! his temples crown'd with thorns,
His bleeding hands extended wide;
His streaming feet transfix'd and torn,
The fountain gushing from his side.
4 Thou dear, thou suffering Son of God,
How doth thy heart to sinners move!
Sprinkle on us thy precious blood,
And melt us with thy dying love!
5 The earth could to her centre quake,
Convuls'd when her Creator died;
O may our inmost nature shake,
And bow with Jesus crucified!
6 At thy last gasp the graves display'd
Their horrors to the upper skies;
O that our souls might burst the shade,
And quicken'd by thy death, arise!
7 The rocks could feel thy powerful death,
And tremble, and asunder part;
Oh rend, with thy expiring breath,
The harder marble of our heart.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Ye that pass by behold the man |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1803 |
Notes: | Public Domain. |