Come Let Our Mounful Songs Record
Come, let our mournful songs record
The dying sorrows of our Lord,
When he expir’d in shame and blood,
Like one forsaken of his God.
The Jews beheld him thus forlorn,
And shook their heads, and laugh’d in scorn;
“He rescu’d others from the grave;
Now let him try himself to save.”
O harden’d people! cruel priests!
How they stood round like savage beasts!
Like lions gaping to devour,
When God had left him in their pow’r!
They wound his head, his hands, his feet,
Till streams of blood each other meet:
By lot his garments they divide,
And mock the pangs in which he died.
But, gracious God! thy pow’r and love
Have made his death a blessing prove.
Tho’ once upon the cross he bled,
Immortal honors crown his head.
Thro’ Christ the Son our guilt forgive,
And let the mourning sinner live!
The Lord will hear us in his name;
Nor shall our hope be turn’d to shame.