1 Mourn, mourn, ye Saints, who once did see
Our Saviour dear nail'd to the tree:
A bitter death he did endure,
To save the souls of men secure.

2 Oh, how his purple streams did flow!
His blood on man he did bestow;
With hands and feet nail'd to the wood,
And pierced side ran down with blood.

3 What wisdom can conceive or know,
What tongue or pen can truly show
The vast dimensions of his love,
Or show his pow'r in heav'n above?

4 To God be praise and worship done,
For giving us his only Son;
Let's tune our souls, and let him adore
In hallelujahs evermore.