As near to Calvary I pass,
Methinks I see a bloody cross,
Where a poor victim hangs,
His flesh with rugged irons tore,
His limbs all dressed in purple gore,
Gasping in dying pangs.
Surprised the spectacle to see,
Who can this victim be I cried,
In such exquisite pain?
Why thus consigned to woes,
’Tis I, the bleeding God replied,
To save a world from sin.
A God for rebel mortal dies;
How can it be? my soul replies,
What! Jesus die for me?
Yes, saith the suffering Son of God,
I give My life, I spill My blood,
For thee, poor soul, for thee.
Lord, since Thy life Thou’st freely giv’n
To bring my wretched soul to Heav’n,
And bless me with Thy love,
Then at Thy feet, O God, I’ll fall,
Give Thee my life, my soul, my all,
To reign with Thee above.