1 Stretch'd on the cross the Savior dies,
Hark! his expiring groans arise:
See, from his hands, his feet, his side,
Runs down the sacred crimson tide.

2 But life attends the deathful sound,
And flows from every bleeding wound;
The vital stream, how free it flows,
To save and cleanse his rebel foes.

3 To suffer in the traitor's place,
To die for man, surprising grace!
Yet pass rebellious angels by—
O why for man, dear Savior, why?

4 And didst thou bleed, for sinners bleed?
And could the sun behold the deed?
No, he withdrew his sickening ray,
And darkness veil'd the mourning day.

5 Can I survey this scene of woe,
Where mingling grief and wonder flow;
And yet my heart unmov'd remain,
Insensible to love or pain?

6 Come, dearest Lord, thy grace impart,
To warm this cold, this stupid heart;
'Till all its powers and passions move,
In melting grief, and ardent love.