Sometimes a vision comes to me,
Of Christ, my Lord, on Cal­va­ry.
I see Him climb the rugged road,
Bowed down beneath His awful load.
I hear the mocking rabble’s cry,
I see the scoffing hosts go by;
But on He presses, weak and faint:
He falters not, nor makes complaint.

O Christ, my Sav­ior, Thou couldst see
The swiftly nearing tragedy;
Already in Thy hands could feel
The torture of the cruel steel.
Thy heart was breaking ’neath the weight
Of man’s great sin—but O, so great
The love, that Thou Thy life couldst give,
That all who look to Thee might live.

O blest Re­deem­er, ne­ver let
My heart for one brief hour forget
How much the sinner owes to Thee;
Nor that the sinner meaneth me!
O help me feel what love was Thine,
What pity, wondrous and divine,
That Thou shouldst bear the cross for me,
And die on cruel Cal­va­ry.