O world, see here suspended,
His loving arms extended,
They Savior on the cross!
The Prince of life is willing,
All righteousness fulfilling,
To suffer anguish, scorn and loss.

O Thou, who hearts dost quicken,
Why art Thou sorrow-stricken,
Why all this nameless pain?
While we must make confession
Of sin and dire transgression,
No sin on Thee hath left a stain.

‘Tis I whom sins encumber,
Whose misdeeds far outnumber
The sands upon the shore;
I caused Thy condemnation,
Thy deep humiliation,
And all the wounds that pain Thee sore.

The burden Thee molesting,
The weight upon Thee resting,
The heavy load is mine.
A curse on Thee is pressing,
That I may reap a blessing;
Thy pain to me is balm divine.

My bondsman ever willing,
My place with patience filling,
And sharing all my guilt,
A crown of thorns Thou wearest,
And my disgrace Thou bearest,
While saying, Father, as Thou wilt!

Death for a time must hold Thee,
The grave, too, must enfold Thee,
Lest I should be its prey;
Death, who for me had tarried,
Death now himself lies buried,
And I shall live with Thee for aye.