Holy Sacrifice

See! where in shame the God of glo­ry hangs

All bathed in His own blood:

See! how those nails pierce with a thou­sand pangs

Those hands so good.

Th’All Ho­ly

as a min­is­ter of ill

Betwixt two thieves they place;

Oh

deed un­just! yet such the cru­el will

Of Is­ra­el’s race.

Pale grows His face

and fixed His lang­uid eye;

His wea­ried head He bends;

And rich in mer­its

forth with one loud cry

His Spir­it sends.

O heart more hard than ir­on! not to weep

At this; thy sin it was

That wrought His death; of all these tor­ments deep

Thou art the cause.

Praise

hon­or

glo­ry be through end­less time

To th’ev­er­last­ing God;

Who wash’d away our dead­ly stain of crime

In His own blood.