Lord Je­sus, when we stand afar
And gaze up­on Thy holy cross,
In love of Thee, and scorn of self,
O may we count the world as loss!

When we behold Thy bleed­ing wounds,
And the rough way that Thou hast trod,
Make us to hate the load of sin
That lay so hea­vy on our God.

O ho­ly Lord, up­lift­ed high,
With out­stretched arms in mor­tal woe,
Thou dost em­brace in won­drous love
The sin­ful world that lies be­low.

Give us an ev­er liv­ing faith
To gaze be­yond the things we see;
And in the mys­te­ry of Thy death
Draw us and all men unto Thee.