1 Recall, my heart, that dreadful hour,
When Jesus on the cursèd tree
Infinite pains and sorrows bore—
Think, O my soul, was this for thee?

2 See, crowned with thorns that sacred head,
With beams of glory once adorned!
That voice, which Heav’n and earth obeyed,
Is now by traitors mocked and scorned.

3 And see those lovely melting eyes,
Whence kind compassion often flowed,
Now raised imploring to the skies,
For hardened souls athirst for blood!

4 Those healing hands with blessings fraught,
Nailed to the cross with pungent smart!
Inhuman deed! Could no kind thought
To pity move the ruthless heart?

5 But oh! What agonies unknown
His soul sustained beneath the load
Of mortal crimes! How deep the groan
Which calmed the vengeance of a God!

6 He groaned! He died! The awful scene
Of wonder, grief, surprising love,
For ever let my heart retain,
Nor from my Savior’s feet remove.

7 O Jesus, take this wretched heart,
Which trembling, mourning, comes to Thee;
The blessing of Thy death impart
And tell my soul, ’tis all for me.