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?