1 Stricken, smitten, and afflicted,
see him dying on the tree!
'Tis the Christ, by man rejected;
yes, my soul, 'tis he, 'tis he.
'Tis the long-expected Prophet,
David's Son, yet David's Lord;
proofs I see sufficient of it:
'tis the true and faithful Word.

2 Tell me, as you hear him groaning,
was there ever grief like his,
friends through fear his cause disowning,
foes insulting his distress?
Many hands were raised to wound him,
none would intervene to save;
but the deepest stroke that pierced him
was the stroke that justice gave.

3 If you think of sin but lightly
nor suppose the evil great,
here you see its nature rightly,
here its guilt may estimate.
Mark the sacrifice appointed,
see who bears the awful load;
'tis the Word, the Lord's anointed,
Son of Man and Son of God.

4 Here we have a firm foundation,
here the refuge of the lost:
Christ, the Rock of our salvation,
is the name of which we boast;
Lamb of God, for sinners wounded,
sacrifice to cancel guilt!
None shall ever be confounded
who on him their hope have built.