1 And why, dear Saviour, tell me why,
Thou thus would'st suffer, bleed and die?
What mighty Motives could thee move?
The Motive's plain, 'twas all for Love.
2 For Love of whom? Of Sinners base,
A harden'd Herd, a Rebel Race;
That mock'd and trampled on thy Blood,
And wantom'd with the wounds of God
3 When Rocks and Mountains rent with Dread,
And gaping Graves gave up their Dead;
When the fair Sun withdrew his Light,
And hid his Head to shun the Sight.
4 Then stood the Wretch of human Race,
And rais'd his Head and shew'd his Face,
Gaz'd unconcern'd, when Nature fail'd;
And scoff'd, and sneer'd, and curs'd and rail'd.
5 Harder than Rocks and Mountains are,
More dull than dirt and Earth by far,
Man view'd unmov'd thy Blood's rich Stream,
Nor ever dream'd it flow'd for him.
6 Such was that Race of sinful Men,
That gain'd that great Salvation then;
Such and such only still we see;
Such they were all, and such are we.
7 The Jews with Thorns his Temples crown'd,
And lash'd him when his Hands were bound;
But Thorns, and knotted Whips, and Bands,
By us were furnish'd to their Hands.
8 They nail'd him to th' accursed Tree;
They did, my Brethren, so did we;
The Soldier pierc'd his Sid, 'tis true,
But we have pierc'd him through and through.
9 Oh Love of unexampled Kind!
That leaves all Thought so far behind,
Where Length, and Breadth, & Depth, and Height;
Are lost to my astonish'd Sight.
10 For Love of me the Son of God
Drain'd ev'ry Drop of vital Blood;
Long Time I after Idols ran,
But now my God's a martyr'd Man.