He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth: He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so He openeth not His mouth. Isaiah 53:7
Words: Augustus M. Toplady, Hymns and Sacred Poems (London: Daniel Sedgwick and Hamilton & Adams, 1775), pages 130–31, alt.
If you know where to get a good picture of Ireland (head-and-shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels), would you ?
Dying Creator, slaughtered Lamb,
Thou hast poured out Thy blood for me;
O may I, kindled by Thy flame,
As freely give myself to Thee!
My heart to Thee I now resign,
For, Lord, it cost the blood of Thine!
To save my falling soul from death
Th’immaculate Redeemer died;
Lord, my offenses drove the nails,
The soldier, I, that pierced Thy side:
For this my restless eye runs o’er
Because I can lament no more.
How gladly should my head have worn
The crown of thorns to hinder Thine!
Have suffered in my Master’s stead,
And made Thy dying sorrows mine!
Have stretched my arms upon the tree,
And died myself to rescue Thee!
But O! no other sacrifice
The Father’s justice could appease;
Ten thousand worlds had died in vain,
Thy blood alone could buy our peace:
The God offended must be slain
To expiate th’offense of man!
And shall I not His cross take up
Who died upon a cross for me?
Jesus, through good and ill report,
I, in Thy strength, will follow Thee:
My Master lived despised, abhorred,
And I am not above my Lord.
The world combined, with one consent,
To trample on the Great Supreme;
The very God of very God,
A man of sorrows here became,
And all who seek in Heav’n to reign,
Must enter through the gate of pain.