1 To Calvary ascending,
With Jesus let us go,
Beneath the shadow bending
Of all His mighty woe:
The Chief of our salvation
Should we not follow nigh,
With all His tribulation,
In all His death to die?

2 The rearward’s faint wayfarer
Must stagger with his load,
Where still the Standard Bearer
Leads up the mountain road:
Wrung out from life’s affliction,
Death has no bitter cup
So sharp, but crucifixion
Has brimmed its sorrows up.

3 Does life’s last fever burning
Thy couch with anguish toss?
His racked limbs had no turning,
His deathbed was the cross:
Each vein of life-drops streaming,
From sole to crown divine,
Has, Death, for thy redeeming
A deeper pang than thine.

4 Art poor? in all thy toiling
See how the Master sped,
His robe, His vesture’s spoiling,
His naked, homeless head!
The fox his hole, the sparrow
Has where to lay her nest,
Those rood beams, hard and narrow,
Are all thy Savior’s rest.

5 Have evil tongued oppressors
Thy reputation torn?
Hark, numbered with transgressors
He bears the robbers’ scorn!
The sharpened nails assailing
Less need the opiate bowl
Than those fell tongues, impaling
Their iron in His soul.

6 Dost fear the pangs of dying,
When death has poised his dart?
See, all those arrows flying
Are gathered in His heart!
A moist wind, gently sighing,
Is now that furnace blast;
Death, in His bitter crying,
Thy bitterness is past.