O Christ, when on the shameful tree,
Thou bor’st such cruel pain for me,
Thine every member felt the smart,
And sent its sorrows to Thy heart.
A crown of thorns Thy temples tore,
Thy face, O Christ, vile spittings bore,
And cruel hands, O action base!
Smote Thee, defiant, in the face.
When in Thy thirst, men heard Thee call,
Thy lips were drenched with bitter gall;
And to Thine ears the words were borne
Of blasphemy and ribald scorn.
Thy hands and feet with nails were riven,
The spear into Thy side was driven;—
O Christ, when dying on the tree,
How great the pain Thou bor’st for me!
Now, by Thy Cross, Almighty King,
Salvation to the sinner bring,
And let Thy sacrifice for me
Teach me to sacrifice for Thee.
Hymns from the East, 1907