1 Ye that pass by, behold the man,
The man of grief condemn'd for you,
The Lamb of God for sinners slain,
Weeping to Calvary pursue.

2 His sacred limbs they stretch, they tear,
With nails they fasten to the wood—
His sacred limbs— expos'd and bare,
Or only cover'd with his blood.

3 See there! his temples crown'd with thorns,
His bleeding hands extended wide,
His streaming feet transfix'd and torn,
The fountain gushing from his side.

4 Thou dear, thou suffering Son of God,
How doth thy heart to sinners move!
Sprinkle on us thy precious blood,
And melt us with thy dying love!

5 The earth could to her centre quake,
Convuls'd when her Creator died;
O may our inmost nature shake,
And bow with Jesus crucified!

6 At thy last gasp the graves display'd
Their horrors to the upper skies;
O that our souls might burst the shade,
And, quicken'd by thy death, arise!

7 The rocks could feel thy powerful death,
And tremble, and asunder part;
O rend, with thy expiring breath,
The harder marble of our heart.