Dying Creator, Slaughtered Lamb

Dying Cre­at­or

slaugh­tered Lamb

Thou hast poured out Thy blood for me;

O may I

kin­dled by Thy flame

As free­ly give my­self to Thee!

My heart to Thee I now re­sign

For

Lord

it cost the blood of Thine!

To save my fall­ing soul from death

Th’immaculate Re­deem­er died;

Lord

my of­fens­es drove the nails

The sol­dier

I

that pierced Thy side:

For this my rest­less eye runs o’er

Because I can la­ment no more.

How glad­ly should my head have worn

The crown of thorns to hin­der Thine!

Have suf­fered in my Mas­ter’s stead

And made Thy dying sor­rows mine!

Have stretched my arms up­on the tree

And died my­self to res­cue Thee!

But O! no other sac­ri­fice

The Fa­ther’s jus­tice could ap­pease;

Ten thou­sand worlds had died in vain

Thy blood alone could buy our peace:

The God of­fend­ed must be slain

To e­xpi­ate th’of­fense of man!

And shall I not His cross take up

Who died up­on a cross for me?

Jesus

through good and ill re­port

I

in Thy strength

will fol­low Thee:

My Mas­ter lived des­pised

ab­horred

And I am not ab­ove my Lord.

The world com­bined

with one con­sent

To tram­ple on the Great Su­preme;

The ve­ry God of ve­ry God

A man of sor­rows here be­came

And all who seek in Heav’n to reign

Must en­ter through the gate of pain.