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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 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 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 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

WHERE is a green hill far away,

Without a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified

Who died to save us all.


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


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.


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 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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