Chorale Book for England

Alas, dear Lord, what law then hast Thou broken,

That suck sharp sentence should on The be spoken?

Of what great crime hast Thou to make confession--

What dark transgression?

They crown His head with thorns, they smite, they scourge Him,

With cruel mockings to the cross they urge Him,

They give Him gall to drink, they still decry Him,--

They crucify Him.

Whence come these sorrows, whence this mortal anguish

It is my sins for which my Lord must languish;

Yes, all the wrath, the woe He doth inherit,

'T is I do merit!

What strangest punishmnent is suffer'd yonder!--

The Shepherd dies for sheep that loved to wander!

The Master pays the debts His servants owe Him,

Who would not know Him.

There was no spot in me by sin untainted,

Sick with its venom all my heart had fainted;

My heavy guilt to hell had well-nigh brought me,

Such woe it wrought me.

O wondrous love! whose depths no heart hath sounded,

That brought Thee here by foes and thieves surrounded;

All worldly pleasures, heedless, I was trying,

While Thou wert dying!

O mighty King! no time can dim Thy glory!

How shall I spread abroad Thy wondrous story?

How shall I find some worthy gift to proffer?

What dare we offer?

For vainly doth our human wisdom ponder--

Thy woes, Thy mercy still transcend our wonder.

Oh how should I do aught that could delight Thee!

Can I requite Thee?

Yet unrequited, Lord, I would not leave Thee,

I can renounce whate'er doth vex or grieve Thee,

And quench with thoughts of Thee and prayers most lowly,

All fires unholy.

But since my strength alone will ne'er suffice me

To crucify desires that still entice me,

To all good deeds, oh let Thy Spirit win me,

And reign within me!

I'll think upon Thy mercy hour by hour,

I'll love Thee so that earth must lose her power;

To do Thy will shall be my foic endeavour

Henceforth for ever.

Whate'er of earthly good this life may grant me

I'll rlsk for Thee,--no shame, no cross shall daunt me;

I shall not fear what man can do to harm me,

Nor death alarm me.

But worthless is my sacrifice, I own it,

Yet, Lord, for love's sake Thou wilt not disown it;

Thou wilt accept my gift in Thy great meekness,

Nor shame my weakness.

And when, dear Lord, before Thy throne in heaven

To me the crown of joy at last is given,

Where sweetest hymns Thy saints for ever raise Thee,

I too shall praise Thee!