O dear­est Je­sus,
What law hast Thou brok­en
That such sharp sen­tence
Should on Thee be spok­en?
Of what great crime hast
Thou to make con­fess­ion—
What dark trans­gress­ion?

They crown Thy head with
Thorns, they smite, they scourge Thee;
With cru­el mock­ings
To the cross they urge Thee;
They give Thee gall to drink,
They still de­cry Thee;
They cru­ci­fy Thee.

Whence come these sor­rows,
Whence this mor­tal ang­uish?
It is my sins for
Which Thou, Lord, must lang­uish;
Yea, all the wrath, the woe,
Thou dost in­he­rit,
This I do me­rit.

What pun­ish­ment so strange
Is suf­fered yon­der!
The Shep­herd dies for sheep
That loved to wan­der;
The Mas­ter pays the debt
His ser­vants owe Him,
Who would not know Him.

The sin­less Son of God
Must die in sad­ness;
The sin­ful child of man
May live in glad­ness;
Man for­feit­ed his life
And is ac­quit­ted—
God is com­mitted.

There was no spot in me
By sin un­taint­ed;
Sick with sin’s poi­son,
All my heart had faint­ed;
My hea­vy guilt to hell
Had well-nigh brought me,
Such woe it wrought me.

O won­drous love, whose
Depth no heart hath sound­ed,
That brought Thee here, by
Foes and thieves sur­round­ed!
All world­ly plea­sures,
Heedless, I was try­ing
While Thou wert dy­ing.

O migh­ty King, no time
Can dim Thy glo­ry!
How shall I spread abroad
Thy won­drous story?
How shall I find some
Worthy gifts to prof­fer?
What dare I of­fer?

For vain­ly doth our hu­man
Wisdom pon­der—
Thy woes, Thy mer­cy, still
Transcend our won­der.
Oh, how should I do aught
That could de­light Thee!
Can I re­quite Thee?

Yet un­re­quit­ed, Lord,
I would not leave Thee;
I will re­nounce what­e’er
Doth vex or grieve Thee
And quench with thoughts of Thee
And pray­ers most low­ly
All fires un­ho­ly.

But since my strength will
Nevermore suf­fice me
To cru­ci­fy de­sires
That still en­tice me,
To all good deeds, oh, let
Thy Spi­rit win me
And reign with­in me!

I’ll think upon Thy mer­cy
Without ceas­ing,
That earth’s vain joys to me
No more be pleas­ing;
To do Thy will shall be
My sole en­de­avor
Henceforth for­ev­er.

Whate’er of earth­ly good
This life may grant me,
I’ll risk for Thee; no shame,
No cross, shall daunt me;
I shall not fear what man
Can do to harm me
Nor death alarm me.

But worth­less is my sac­ri­fice,
II own it;
Yet, Lord, for love’s sake Thou
Wilt not dis­own it;
Thou wilt ac­cept my gift
In Thy great meek­ness
Nor shame my weak­ness.

And when, dear Lord, be­fore
Thy throne in Hea­ven
To me the crown of joy
At last is giv­en,
Where sweet­est hymns Thy saints
Forever raise Thee,
I, too, shall praise Thee.