1 Now, from the garden to the cross,
Let us attend the Lamb of God.
Be all things else accounted dross,
Compared with sin-atoning blood.
2 [See how the patient Jesus stands,
Insulted in his lowest case!
Sinners have bound the Almighty’s hands!
And spit in their Creator’s face!
3 With thorns his temples gored and gashed,
Send streams of blood from every part!
His back’s with knotted scourges lashed,
But sharper scourges tear his heart!
4 Nailed naked to the accursed wood,
Exposed to earth and heaven above,
A spectacle of wounds and blood,
A prodigy of injured love!
5 [Hark! how his doleful cries affright
Affected angels, while they view!
His friends forsook him in the night,
And now his God forsakes him too!
6 O what a field of battle’s here;
Vengeance and love their powers oppose!
Never was such a mighty pair;
Never were two such desperate foes.]
7 Behold that pale, that languid face,
That drooping head, those cold dead eyes!
Behold in sorrow and disgrace,
Our conquering Hero hangs and dies!
8 Ye that assume his sacred name,
Now tell me what can all this mean?
What was it bruised God’s harmless Lamb?
What was it pierced his soul, but sin?
9 Blush, Christian, blush; let shame abound;
If sin affects thee not with woe,
Whatever spirit be in thee found,
The Spirit of Christ thou dost not know.
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