3

The blood drops from his brows ;
He bleeds, my Saviour bleeds!
While the fierce scourges fall
The precious blood still pleads;
In front of Pilate's hall

He bleeds, my Saviour bleeds! 4 Beneath the thorny crown

The crimson fountain speeds ; See how it trickles down ;

He bleeds, my Saviour bleeds! 5 Bearing the fatal wood,

His band of saints he leads,
Marking the way with blood;
He bleeds, my Saviour bleeds!

6 He hangs upon the tree,

On the cross, on the cross! For you he shed his precious blood,

On the cross, on the cross! Now hear his all-important cry, "Eloi lama sabacthani ;" Draw near, and see your Saviour die, On the cross, on the cross!

2 Where'er I go I'll tell the story Of the cross, of the cross!

In nothing else my soul shall glory,

Save the cross, save the cross!
Yes, this my constant theme shall be,
Through time and in eternity,
That Jesus suffered death for me,
On the cross, on the cross!

B

357

OUND upon

7s. D.

th' accursed tree,

Faint and bleeding, who is he? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood and writhing limb, By the flesh with scourges torn, By the crown of twisted thorn, By the drooping, death-dew'd brow, Son of Man, 'tis thou! 'tis thou! 2 Bound upon th' accursed tree, Dread and awful, who is he? By the sun at noonday pale, Shivering rocks and rending veil, By earth that trembles at his doom, By yonder saints that burst their tomb, Trembling nature knows thee now; Son of God, 'tis thou! 'tis thou!

3 Bound upon th' accursed tree,

Faint and bleeding, who is he?
By the prayer for them that slew,
"Lord! they know not what they do!"
By Eden, promised ere he died
To the felon at his side,

Lord, our suppliant knees we bow,
Son of God, 'tis thou! 'tis thou!

4 Bound upon th' accursed tree,

Sad and dying, who is he?
By the last and bitter cry
The life given up in agony;

By the baffled burning thirst,
By the side so deeply pierced,
Crucified! we know thee now;
Son of Man, 'tis thou! 'tis thou!

5 Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Cold and lifeless, who is he?
By the lifeless body laid
In the chamber of the dead:
By the mourners come to weep
Where the bones of Jesus sleep;
By the linen round thy brow,
Son of Man, 'tis thou! 'tis thou!
6 Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is he?
By the spoiled and empty grave,
By the souls he died to save,
By the conquests he hath won,
By the saints before his throne,
By the rainbow round his brow;
Son of God, 'tis thou! 'tis thou!

All his raiment stained with blood, To the captive speaking freedom,

Bringing and bestowing good; Glorious in the garb he wears, Glorious in the spoil he bears? 2 'Tis the Saviour, now victorious, Traveling onward in his might; 'Tis the Saviour; oh, how glorious

3

To his people is the sight! Satan conquered, and the grave ; Jesus now is strong to save.

Why that blood his raiment staining? "Tis the blood of many slain;

Of his foes there's none remaining,

None, the contest to maintain;
Fallen now, no more to rise,

All their glory prostrate lies. 4 Mighty Victor, reign forever,*

Wear the crown so dearly won;
Never shall thy people, never,

Cease to sing what thou hast done.
Thou hast slain thy people's foes;
Thou hast healed thy people's woes.

ARY to the Saviour's tomb

Hasted at the early dawn; Spice she brought, and sweet perfume,

But the Lord she loved was gone. For awhile she lingering stood,

Filled with sorrow and surprise; Trembling, while a crystal flood

Issued from her weeping eyes.

2 Late at even there was seen
Watching long the Magdalene;
Early, ere the break of day,
Sorrowful she took her way
To the holy garden glade,
Where her buried Lord was laid.

3 So with thee till life shall end
I would solemn vigil spend ;
Let me hew thee, Lord, a shrine
In this rocky heart of mine,
Where in pure embalméd cell
None but thee may ever dwell.

4 Myrrh and spices will I bring,
True affection's offering;

2 Now, ye saints, lift up your eyes, See him high in glory rise! Hosts of angels, on the road, Hail him-the incarnate God. 3 Heaven unfolds its portals wide; See the Conqueror through them ride! King of glory! mount thy throneBoundless empire is thine own. 4 Praise him, ye celestial choirs! Tune, and sweep your golden lyres ; Raise, O earth! your noblest songs, From ten thousand thousand tongues. 5 Every note with wonder swell,

Sin o'erthrown, and captive hell! Where, O Death, is now thy sting? Where thy terrors, vanquished king?

Gibbons.

7s.

ORNING breaks upon the tomb,

2 He who gave for us his life,
Who for us endured the strife,
Is our paschal Lamb to-day!
We, too, sing for joy, and say,

Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

3 He who bore all pain and loss, Comfortless, upon the cross, Lives in glory now on high, Pleads for us and hears our cry;

Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

4 Now he bids us tell abroad
How the lost may be restored,
How the penitent forgiven,
How we, too, may enter heaven!
Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!