Behold the man! John 19:5
Words: Charles Wesley, Hymns and Sacred Poems 1742, pages 22–24.
If you know where to get a good picture of Dare (head-and-shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels), would you ?
Ye that pass by, behold the man,
The man of grief condemned for you;
The Lamb of God for sinners slain
Weeping to Calvary pursue.
See how His back the scourges tear,
While to the bloody pillar bound!
The ploughers make long furrows there,
Till all His body is one wound.
The abjects spit upon that face
Which prophets wished in vain to see,
On which the angels loved to gaze,
Pleased with His milder majesty.
Adored by angels, mocked by men,
Speechless the form of guilt He wears,
Reviled He answers not again,
But meekly all their insults bears.
Nor can He thus their hate assuage,
His innocence to death pursued,
Must fully glut their utmost rage;
Hark how they clamor for His blood!
To us our own Barabbas give, they loudly cry.
Away with Him,
Away with Him, not fit to live,
The vile seducer crucify.
Against his God the creature calls:
Accused and sentenced by the breath
Himself inspired, their Maker falls;
The Lord of Life is doomed to death.
His sacred limbs, they stretch, they tear,
With nails they fasten to the wood—
His sacred limbs exposed and bare,
Or only covered with His blood.
See there! His temples crowned with thorns,
His bleeding hands extended wide;
His streaming feet transfixed and torn,
The fountain gushing from His side.
Where is the King of Glory now?
The everlasting Son of God!
Th’Immortal hangs His languid brow,
Th’Almighty faints beneath His load.
Beneath my load, He faints and dies:
I filled His soul with pangs unknown;
I caused those mortal groans and cries,
I killed the Father’s only Son.
Oh! Thou dear suffering Son of God,
How doth Thy heart to sinners move!
Help me to catch Thy precious blood,
Help me to taste Thy dying love.
Give me to feel Thy agonies,
One drop of Thy sad cup afford;
I fain with Thee would sympathize,
And share the sufferings of my Lord.
The earth could to her center quake,
Convulsed, while her creator died;
O let my inmost nature shake,
And bow with Jesus crucified.
At Thy last gasp the graves displayed
Their horrors to the upper skies;
Oh, that my soul might burst the shade,
And quickened by Thy death, arise.
The rocks could feel Thy powerful death,
And tremble, and asunder part;
O rent with Thy expiring breath
The harder marble of my heart.
My stony heart Thy voice shall rent,
Thou wilt, I trust, the veil remove,
My inmost bowels shall resent
The yearnings of Thy dying love.
The grace I surely shall receive,
Thy death hath bought the grace for me;
This is my whole desire, to live;
To live, and then to die in Thee.