How Shall I Look upon That Brow?

How shall I look upon that brow

O crowned with thorns for me?

How shall I lift my sin­ful eyes

Those glo­ri­ous eyes to see?

How shall I dare to look up­on

The pierc­èd hands and feet

When all the dead in Christ shall rise

Their ris­en Lord to meet?

How shall I ven­ture

ho­ly Lord

To come be­fore Thee now

All stained with sin my ev­il heart

Its mark up­on my brow?

My way­ward­ness

my will­ful­ness

The sins I dare not name

Gave to the Lord of Life His death

The Lord of Glo­ry shame.

The lame and blind were hat­ed then

Of ho­ly David’s soul;

They came to Thee in te­mple

Lord

And Thou didst make them whole.

The le­per dared not sit or rest

Where trace of man had been;

Yet didst Thou deign

all mer­ci­ful

To touch

and make him clean.

From some the right­eous pure will shrink

And shun their face to see

But har­lot and the pub­li­can

Thou calledst unto Thee.

And when Thy bless­èd hands were pierced

Upon the bit­ter tree

Even in that hour of ago­ny

Thou thought with love of me.

Alas! I knew not what I did

I know not what I do

When by my sins I cru­ci­fy

The Son of God anew.

I on­ly know that I am vile

More vile than words can say

But know that Je­sus did not will

The worst be cast away.