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The Book of Praise. |
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4
Bound upon th' accursed tree, Faint and bleeding, Who is He ? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood, and writhing limb, By the flesh, with scourges torn, By the crown of twisted thorn, By the side, so deeply pierc'd, By the baffled burning thirst, By the drooping death-dew'd brow, Son of Man ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou !
Bound upon th' accursed tree, Dread and awful, Who is He ? By the sun at noonday pale, Shivering rocks, and rending veil, By earth, that trembles at His doom, By yonder saints, that burst their tomb, By Eden, promised ere He died To the felon at His side, Lord, our suppliant knees we bow \ Son of God ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou !
Bound upon th' accursed tree, Sad and dying, Who is He? By the last and bitter cry, The ghost giv'n up in agony ; By the lifeless Body, laid In the chamber of the dead ; By the mourners, come to weep Where the bones of Jesus sleep ; Crucified ! we know Thee now ; Son of Man ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou ! |
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