1 Upon the cross down-lying,
The Lord was crucified;
In hate, kind love defying,
Their task the soldiers plied:
His limbs they stretched amain,
The sacred hands outbending;
His feet the nails were rending:
Dread was that awful pain.

2 Toward Thy hands upgazing
I whisper evermore,
This agony amazing
For me, for me He bore.
He only thus could right
My hands' misdeeds appalling;
Cleansed by His blood down falling,
Behold, my sins are white.

3 My feet too oft went straying
Down luring paths of sin;
Thy feet, close nailed, are paying
This price God's grace to win.
Henceforward let me cease
To sing Thy praises never:
Christ, guide my feet forever
Into the way of peace.