My Sav­ior, how Thy soul was awed,
When, hang­ing on the tree,
Thou criedst aloud, My God, my God,
Hast Thou for­sak­en Me?

When an­gry foes around Thee strove,
And faith­less friends fo­rsook;
And earth be­low, and Hea­ven above,
Wore one dark threat­en­ing look.

Beneath Thy cross, Lord, let me lie,
Thy bleed­ing love to view;
And weep, and watch, and pray that I
May ne’er those wounds re­new.

Beneath Thy cross O let me lie,
And mark what Thou hast won,
And hear Thy last tri­um­phant cry,
’Tis done! The work is done!

Lord, let my soul that tri­umph share;
I look to Thee to save.
Where is thy sting, O death? and where
Thy vic­to­ry, O grave?