In the Lord’s Atoning Grief

In the Lord’s aton­ing grief

Be our rest and sweet re­lief;

Store we deep in heart’s re­cess

All the shame and bit­ter­ness.

Thorns

and cross

and nails

and lance

Wounds

our trea­sure that en­hance

Vinegar

and gall

and reed

And the pang His soul that freed.

May these all our spir­its sate

And with love ine­bri­ate;

In our souls plant vir­tue’s root

And ma­ture its glo­ri­ous fruit.

Crucified! we Thee adore

Thee with all our hearts im­plore;

Us with saint­ly hands unite

In the realms of heav­en­ly light.

Christ

by cow­ard hands be­trayed

Christ

for us a cap­tive made

Christ

up­on the bit­ter tree

Slain for man

be praise to Thee.