2 For whom, for whom, my heart,
Were all these sorrows borne?
Why did He feel that piercing smart,
And meet that various scorn?
For love of us He bled,
And all in torture died;
'Twas Love that bowed His fainting head,
And oped His gushing side.
Drawn by such cords as these,
Let all the world combine,
With cheerful ardor, to confess
The energy divine.
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!
What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
3 Lo, here I fall, my Saviour!
'Tis I deserve Thy place!
Look on me with Thy favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.
Receive me, my Redeemer;
My Shepherd, make me Thine!
Of every good the Fountain,
Thou art the Spring of mine!
4 What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
dor e anzuty Maker ured For man the creature's sin!
4 Thus might I hide my blushing face,
While His dear cross appears;
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes in tears.
5 But drops of grief can ne'er repay
The debt of love I owe.
Here, Lord, I give myself away:
'Tis all that I can do.
1 ALL is o'er, the pain, the sorrow,
Human taunts and Satan's spite;
Death shall be despoiled to-morrow
Of the prey he grasps to-night;
Yet once more, to seal his doom,
Christ must sleep within the tomb.
2 Fierce and deadly was the anguish
Which on yonder Cross He bore;
How did soul and body languish
Till the toil of death was o'er!
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crushed the serpent's head.
3 Close and still the cell that holds Him,
While in brief repose He lies;
Deep the slumber that enfolds Him,
Veiled awhile from mortal eyes;
Slumber such as needs must be
After hard-won victory.
4 We this night with plaintive voicing
Chant His requiem soft and low;
Loftier strains of loud rejoicing
From to-morrow's harps shall flow: Death and hell at length are slain,
Christ hath triumphed, Christ doth reign.
4 Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a tribute far too small; Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
And all in torture died;
'Twas Love that bowed His fainting head,
And oped His gushing side.
Drawn by such cords as these,
Let all the world combine,
With cheerful ardor, to confess
The energy divine.
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!
What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
3 Lo, here I fall, my Saviour!
'Tis I deserve Thy place!
Look on me with Thy favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.
Receive me, my Redeemer;
My Shepherd, make me Thine!
Of every good the Fountain,
Thou art the Spring of mine!
4 What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
би макет атей
For man the creature's sin!
4 Thus might I hide my blushing face,
While His dear cross appears;
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes in tears.
Thy bitter Death shall be
My constant memory,
My guide at last into death's awful shade.
Miss Winkworth. 1855.
Te Salamon Franck 1716
1 ALL is o'er, the pain, the sorrow,
Human taunts and Satan's spite;
Death shall be despoiled to-morrow
Of the prey he grasps to-night;
Yet once more, to seal his doom,
Christ must sleep within the tomb.
2 Fierce and deadly was the anguish
Which on yonder Cross He bore;
How did soul and body languish
Till the toil of death was o'er!
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crushed the serpent's head.
3 Close and still the cell that holds Him,
While in brief repose He lies;
Deep the slumber that enfolds Him,
Veiled awhile from mortal eyes;
Slumber such as needs must be
After hard-won victory.
4 We this night with plaintive voicing
Chant His requiem soft and low;
Loftier strains of loud rejoicing
From to-morrow's harps shall flow:
Death and hell at length are slain,
Christ hath triumphed, Christ doth reign.
4 Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a tribute far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
My soul doth start, to weep
So sad a wonder, that Thou, Saviour, diest!
2 Thy bitter anguish o'er,
To this dark tomb they bore
Thee, Life of life-Thee, Lord of all creation!
The hollow rocky cave
Must serve Thee for a grave,
Who wast Thyself the Rock of our salvation!
3 0 Prince of Life! I know
That when I too lie low,
Thou wilt at last my soul from death awaken :
Wherefore I will not shrink
From the grave's awful brink;
The heart that trusts in Thee shall ne'er be shaken.
4 To me the darksome tomb
Is but a narrow room,
Where I may rest in peace, from sorrow free.
Thy Death shall give me power
To cry in that dark hour,
O Death! O Grave! where is your victory?
5 The grave can naught destroy;
Only the flesh can die,
And even the body triumphs o'er decay:
Clothed by Thy wondrous might
In robes of dazzling light,
This flesh shall burst the grave at that Last Day.
6 My Jesus, day by day,
Help me to watch and pray,
Beside the tomb where in my heart Thou'rt laid.
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