My sins laid op­en to the rod,
The back which from the law was free;
And the eter­nal Son of God
Received the stripes once due to me.

No beam was in His eye, nor mote,
Nor laid to Him was any blame;
And yet His cheeks for me were smote—
The cheeks that ne­ver blushed for shame.

I pierced those sac­red hands and feet
That ne­ver touched or walked in sin;
I broke the heart that on­ly beat
The souls of sin­ful men to win.

That sponge of vi­ne­gar and gall
Was placed by me up­on His tongue;
And when de­ri­sion mocked His call,
I stood that mock­ing crowd among.

And yet His blood was shed for me,
To be of sin the dou­ble cure;
And balm there flows from Cal­va­ry’s tree
That heals my guilt and makes me pure.