In the Lord's atoning grief
Be our rest and sweet relief,
Deep within our hearts we'll store,
Those dear pains and wrongs he bore.

Thorns and Cross and nails and spear,
Wounds that faithful hearts, revere
Vinegar and gall and reed,
And the pang his soul that freed.

May these all our spirits fill
And with love inflame our will;
Plant in us contrition's root;
Ripen there its saving fruit.

Crucified, we adore you,
With all our hearts we implore
With the saints our souls unite
In the realms of heav'nly light.

Christ, by coward hands betrayed,
Christ, for us a captive made,
Christ, upon the bitter tree,
Slain for man, be praise to you.