O’erwhelmed in depths of woe,
Upon the tree of scorn,
Hangs the Re­deem­er of man­kind,
With rack­ing ang­uish torn.

See how the nails those hands
And feet so ten­der rend;
See down His face, and neck, and breast
His sac­red blood des­cend.

Oh, hear that last, loud cry
Which pierced His mo­ther’s heart,
As in­to God the Fa­ther’s hands
He bade His soul de­part.

Earth hears, and trem­bling quakes
Around that tree of pain;
The rocks are rent; the graves are burst;
The veil is rent in twain.

Shall man alone be mute?
Have we no griefs, or fears?
Come, old and young, come, all man­kind,
And bathe those feet in tears.

Come, fall be­fore His cross,
Who shed for us His blood,
Who died, the vic­tim of pure love,
To make us sons of God.

Jesu, all praise to Thee,
Our joy and end­less rest;
Be Thou our guide while pil­grims here,
Our crown amid the blest.