The morning dawns upon the place
Where Jesus spent the night in prayer;
Through yielding glooms behold His face,
Nor form nor comeliness is there.
Last eve, by those He called His own,
Betray'd, forsaken, or denied,
He met His enemies alone
In all their malice, rage, and pride.
Brought forth to judgment, now He stands
Arraign'd, condemn'd, at Pilate's bar:
Here, spurn'd by fierce praetorian bands,
There, mock'd by Herod's men of war.
He bears their buffeting and scorn,
Mock-homage of the lip and knee,
The purple robe, the crown of thorn,
The scourge, the nail, the accursed tree.
No guile within His mouth is found,
He neither threatens nor complains:
Meek as a lamb for slaughter bound,
Dumb 'midst His murderers He remains.
But hark! He prays--tis for His foes;
He speaks,--tis comfort to His friends;
Answers,--and Paradise bestows;
He bows His head; the conflict ends.
Truly this was the Son of God!
Though in a servant's mean disguise;
And, bruised beneath the Father's rod,
Not for Himself--for Man He dies.
Sacred Poems and Hymns
“He dies:—the veil is rent in twain: Darkness o'er all the land is spread: High without tempest rolls the main: Earth quakes: the graves give up their dead."The 1825 text was repeated with slight variations in Montgomery's Original Hymns, 1853, No. 61, and is that usually given in the hymn-hooks both in Great Britain and America. Sometimes the text is abbreviated. -- John Julian, Dictionary of Hymnology (1907)