NOW let our mournful songs record The dying sorrows of our Lord, When He cried out in tears and blood, As one forsaken of His God.
The crowds beheld Him thus, forlorn, And shook their heads and laughed in scorn: ‘He rescued others from the grave, Now let Him try Himself to save.’
Such cruel people! hostile eyes! They gaze with hate and savage cries, As lions roaring to devour, When God had left Him in their power.
The wound His head, His hands, His feet, Till streams of blood run down and meet; By lot His garments they divide, And mock the pains in which He died.
But God, His Father, heard His cry: Raised from the dead, He reigns on high; The nations learn His righteousness, And humble sinners taste His grace.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748