1 Memories holy, most precious and blest,
Speak to my spirit of stillness and rest;
Gently me lead to Gethsemane's dale;
Show me the sufferer trembling and pale,
Treading forsaken a path full of thorns,
Loving the world, which in turn only scorns.
2 Now I perceive Him in shadows of night,
Putting the powers of darkness to flight,
Crushed 'neath the load of the sin of the world,
Death and damnation around Him are hurled.
Thorn-crowned and scourged still the sacrificed Lamb,
Lifting His brow, says: "A King yet I am."
3 Show me the cross where He patiently died,
There in its shadow myself will I hide,
There will I bide His victorious word,
Hear him exclaim "It is finished", my Lord
There will I praise for His mercy and grace;
Suffering and dying He stood in my place.