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4 For me, kind Jesus, was thy incarnation,

Thy mortal sorrow, and thy life's oblation; Thy death of anguish and thy bitter passion,

For my salvation.

5 Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay

thee, I do adore thee, and will ever pray thee, Think on thy pity and thy love unswerving,

Not my deserving. Amen. Johann Heermann, c. 1630; Tr. Robert Bridges, 1899

156

8.8.8.6 TTIS are the thousand sparkling rills

That from a thousand fountains

burst, And fill with music all the hills;

And yet he saith, "I thirst."

HIS That from a

2 All fiery pangs on battlefields,

On fever beds where sick men toss, Are in that human cry he yields

To anguish on the cross.

3 But more than pains that racked him then

Was the deep longing thirst divine That thirsted for the souls of men:

Dear Lord! and one was mine.

4 O Love most patient, give me grace;

Make all my soul athirst for thee; That parched dry lip, that fading face, That thirst, were all for me. Amen.

Cecil Frances Alexander, 1876

157

8.7.8.7 WEET the moments, rich in blessing,

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Life and health and peace possessing

From the sinner's dying Friend.

2 Here I kneel in wonder, viewing,

Mercy poured in streams of blood; Precious drops, for pardon suing,

Make and plead my peace with God.

3 Truly blessèd is the station,

Low before his cross to lie, While I see divine compassion

Pleading in his dying eye. 4 Here I find my hope of heaven,

While upon the Lamb I gaze; Loving much, and much forgiven,

Let my heart o'erflow with praise.

5 Lord, in loving contemplation

Fix my heart and eyes on thee, Till I taste thy full salvation,

And thine unveiled glories see.

6 For thy sorrows I adore thee,

For the griefs that wrought our peace; Gracious Saviour, I implore thee, In my heart thy love increase. Amen.

Walter Shirley, 1770; from James Allen, 1767

158

7.6.7.6 D, SACRED head surrounded

By crown of piercing thorn!
O bleeding head, so wounded,

Reviled and put to scorn!

Death's pallid hue comes o'er thee,

The glow of life decays,
Yet angel hosts adore thee,

And tremble as they gaze.
2 I see thy strength and vigour,

All fading in the strife,
And death with cruel rigour,

Bereaving thee of life;
O agony and dying!

O love to sinners free!
Jesus, all grace supplying,

O turn thy face on me.
3 In this, thy bitter passion,

Good Shepherd, think of me
With thy most sweet compassion,

Unworthy though I be:
Beneath thy cross abiding

For ever would I rest,
In thy dear love confiding,

And with thy presence blest. 4 Be near when I am dying;

O show thy cross to me:
And to my succour flying,

Come, Lord, and set me free.
These eyes, new faith receiving,

From thee shall never move;
For he who dies believing,
Dies safely in thy love. Amen.

St. Bernard nf Clairvaux, 1091–1159;

Tr. Henry W. Baker, 1861 159

C.M.
WHERE is a green hill far away,

Without a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified

Who died to save us all.

T

2 We may not know, we cannot tell,

What pains he had to bear,
But we believe it was for us

He hung and suffered there.

3 He died that we might be forgiven,

He died to make us good,
That we might go at last to heaven,

Saved by his precious blood.

4 There was no other good enough

To pay the price of sin,
He only could unlock the gate

Of heaven, and let us in.

5 O dearly, dearly has he loved!

And we must love him too, And trust in his redeeming blood, And try his works to do.

Cecil Frances Alexander, 1848

160

L.M. E sing the praise of him who died,

Of him who died upon the cross; The sinner's hope let men deride:

For this we count the world but loss.

WE

2 Inscribed upon the cross we see

In shining letters, God is love: He bears our sins upon the tree:

He brings us mercy from above.

3 The cross, it takes our guilt away;

It holds the fainting spirit up;
It cheers with hope the gloomy day,

And sweetens every bitter cup.

4 It makes the coward spirit brave,

And nerves the feeble arm for fight;
It takes its terror from the grave,

And gilds the bed of death with light. 5 The balm of life, the cure of woe,

The measure and the pledge of love,
The sinner's refuge here below,
The angels' theme in heaven above.

Thomas Kelly, 1815

161

8.8.7.8.8.7 T the cross her station keeping,

Stood the mournful mother weeping, Where he hung, the dying Lord; For her soul of joy bereaved, Bowed with anguish, deeply grieved,

Felt the sharp and piercing sword. 2 O how sad and sore distressed Now was she, that mother blessed

Of the sole-begotten One. Deep the woe of her affliction, When she saw the crucifixion

Of her ever-glorious Son. 3 Who, on Christ's dear mother gazing, Pierced by anguish so amazing,

Born of woman, would not weep? Who, on Christ's dear mother thinking, Such a cup of sorrow drinking,

Would not share her sorrows deep? 4 For his people's sins chastised, She beheld her Son despisèd, Scourged, and crowned with thorns en

twined; Saw him then from judgment taken, And in death by all forsaken,

Till his spirit he resigned.

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