Now from the Garden to the Cross

Now from the gar­den to the cross

Let us at­tend the Lamb of God.

Be all things else ac­count­ed dross

Compared with sin aton­ing blood.

See

how the pa­tient Jesus stands

Insulted in His low­est case;

Sinners have bound th’al­migh­ty hands;

And spit in their cre­at­or’s face.

With thorns His tem­ples gored and gashed

Send streams of blood from ev­ery part.

His back’s with knot­ted scourg­es lashed

But sharp­er scourg­es tear His heart.

Nailed nak­ed to th’ac­curs­èd wood

Exposed to earth and Heav’n ab­ove

A spec­ta­cle of wounds and blood;

A pro­di­gy of in­jured love.

Hark! how His dole­ful cries af­fright

Affected an­gels

while they view.

His friends for­sook Him in the night;

And now His God fo­rsakes Him

too!

O

what a field of bat­tle’s here!

Vengeance and love their pow’rs op­pose.

Never was such a migh­ty pair;

Never were two such des­per­ate foes.

Behold that pale

that lan­guid face

That droop­ing head

those cold dead eyes!

Behold in sor­row and dis­grace

Our con­qu’ring he­ro hangs

and dies!

Ye that as­sume His sac­red name

Now tell me

what can all this mean?

What was it bruised God’s harm­less Lamb?

What was it pierced His soul

but sin?

Blush

Christian

blush; let shame ab­ound:

If sin af­fects thee not with woe

Whatever spir­it’s in thee found

The Spir’t of Christ thou dost not know.