Metropolitan Tabernacle, London
Extended on a cursèd tree,
Besmeared with dust, and sweat, and blood,
See there, the King of glory see!
Sinks and expires the Son of God.
Who, who, my Saviour, this has done?
Who would Thy sacred body wound?
No guilt Thy spotless heart has known,
No guile has in Thy lips been found.
I, I alone, have done the deed!
‘Tis I Thy sacred flesh have torn;
My sins have caused Thee, Lord, to bleed,
Pointed the nail, and fixed the thorn.
Too much to Thee I cannot give;
Too much I cannot do for Thee;
Let all Thy love, and all Thy grief,
Grav’n on my heart for ever be!
Still let Thy tears, Thy groans, Thy sighs,
O’erflow my eyes, and move my breast,
Till loosed from flesh and earth I rise,
And ever in Thy presence rest.