On that cold and bitter plain,
Our dear Savior there was slain;
Made to bear a cross of sin,
For a world of thankless men.
O dear friends, it was for you,
All this suff’ring He passed thru;
Has affection from you flown?
Must He bear the cross alone?
Oh, they nailed Him to the tree,
Cursed Him in His agony;
And the moment that He died,
They did pierce His blessèd side.
Then the sun no longer shone,
And the hoary hills did moan;
While the day that was so bright,
Slowly turned to darkest night.
Friends then laid Him in the tomb,
Midst the evening’s gathering gloom;
In the night’s lone silence gray,
Angels rolled the stone away.