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tr., John Brownlie




When Jesus to the judgment hall

By cruel men was led,

He wore a purple robe of scorn,

And thorns upon His head;—

They called Him King, and bowed the knee,

And paid Him homage, mockingly.


“Away! let Him be crucified!”

The impious shouts proclaim;

And forth they led the Son of God

To die a death of shame;

And passing thence amid’ the crowd,

Beneath a ponderous cross He bowed.


Behold Him nailed upon the cross

And left alone to die,

While from the awful scene of death

His timid followers fly;—

In agony He groaned and sighed,

And faint, He bowed the head, and died.


Ah, cruel death for Him to die,

Ah, vilest death of shame,—

Who, to redeem our guilty souls,

From God, in pity came;—

The glory of the Father’s throne

He left, to make our souls His own.


O Jesus, to Thy cross I cling,

For Thou, my Lord, art there,

Who, in Thy love, True Man became,

My load of sin to bear;

And lo, I lift my eyes to heaven,

For God in mercy hath forgiven.

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