1 Come hither ye, that fain would know
The exceeding sinfulness of sin:
Come see a scene of matchless woe;
And tell me what it all can mean.
2 Behold the darling Son of God
Bowed down with horror to the ground,
Wring at the heart, and sweating blood,
His eyes in tears of sorrow drowned.
3 See how the victim panting lies,
His soul with bitter anguish pressed.
He sighs, he faints, he groans, he cries,
Dismayed, dejected, shocked, distressed.
4 What pangs are these that tear his heart!
What burdens this that's on him laid?
What means this agony of smart?
What makes our Maker hang his head?
5 'Tis justice with it's iron rod,
Inflicting strokes of wrath divine:
'Tis the vindictive hand of God,
Incensed at all your sins, and mine.
6 Deep in his breast our names were cut,
He undertook our desperate debt.
Such loads of guilt were on him put,
He could but just sustain the weight.
7 Then let us not our selves deceive:
For while of sin we lightly deem,
Whatever notions we may have,
Indeed we are not much like him.
The Christian's duty, exhibited in a series of hymns, 1791
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