3. O Lamb of God, most holy, Upon the cursed tree slain; E’er patient, meek, and lowly, Though heaped with hate and disdain. All sins Thou borest for us, Else had despair reigned o’er us, Thy peace be with us, O Jesus! N. Decius, 1526; C. Winkworth, tr., a. 204 L. M. When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss And pour contempt on all my pride. 2. Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast Save in the death of Christ, my God; All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood. 3. See, from His head, His hands, His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down! Did e’er such love and sorrow meet Or thorns compose so rich a crown? 4. Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a tribute far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all. Isaac Watts, 1707, a. 205 7, 7, 6, 7, 7, 8 See, world, thy Life assailèd, On the accursed tree nailèd; Thy Savior sinks in death! The mighty Prince from heaven Himself hath freely given To shame and blows and cruel wrath. 2. Come hither now and ponder, ’Twill fill thy soul with wonder, Blood streams from every pore. Through grief whose depth none knoweth, From His great heart there floweth Sigh after sigh of anguish o’er. 3. Who is it that afflicts Thee? My Savior, what dejects Thee And causeth all Thy woe? Sin Thou committedst never, As we and our seed ever, Of deeds of evil naught dost know. 4. I, many times transgressing, In number far surpassing The sand upon the coast, I thus the cause have given That Thou with grief art riven And with afflictions’ scourging host. 5. I’ve done it, and deliver Me hand and foot forever Thou justly might’st to hell. The mocking to Thee offered, The scourging Thou hast suffered, My soul it was deserved it well. 6. The load Thou takest on Thee, That pressed so sorely on me Than stone more heavily. A curse, Lord, Thou becamest, Thus blessings for me claimest; Thy pain must all my comfort be. 7. Not death itself Thou fearest, As Surety Thou appearest For all my debts and me. For me Thy brow is crownèd With thorns, and Thou’rt disownèd By men and bear’st all patiently. 8. Into death’s jaws Thou springest, Deliverance to me bringest From such a monster dire. My death away Thou takest, Thy grave its grave Thou makest; O love, O unexampled fire!