They brought Him to the hill of death
Where ruthless felons died,
And there, upon a cross of shame,
The Christ was crucified;
By wicked men the nails were driven,
And God, in silence, looked from heaven.
They bade Him find His help in God,
If He were Christ indeed,
And save Himself, as He had saved
So many in their need;
Such taunting words like venom stung,
And God beheld the arrows flung.
They wagged their heads in mocking scorn,
And bade the Christ come down,—
While from His wounds the blood-drops fell,
And from the thorny crown;
The spear uplifted pierced His side,
And God beheld the crimson tide.
All dark at noon, the sun refused
His wonted light to shed,
For sin and death had God defied,
And Christ His Son was dead;
And God had turned His face away,
Nor heard the Christ in anguish pray.
All hail the Resurrection morn!
The light returns again,
And Christ is throned at God’s right hand
Who once for man was slain;
And God extends His pardoning grace,
Nor hides the brightness of His face.