The Wounds Which Jesus Once Endured

The wounds which Je­sus once en­dured

Were stig­mas of His shame;

But now they have for Him pro­cured

An ev­er­las­ting name.

The nail-prints

and the lance’s scar

The work of hell­ish spite

His bright tri­um­phal tro­phies are

And badg­es of His might.

Behold these hands; at My com­mand

Touch them

the Sav­ior cried;

Reach hi­ther

Tho­mas

reach thy hand

And thrust it in My side.

Thomas ob­eyed the Sav­ior’s word

My Lord and God

he said;

He owned his mas­ter and his Lord

And to his God he prayed.

O migh­ty Con­quer­or of the grave!

To Thee be end­less praise

For all the proofs Thy mer­cy gave

That Thou Thy­self didst raise.

For with Thee Lord

we up­ward tend

With Thee Thy mem­bers rise;

In Thine as­cen­sion we as­cend

To man­sions in the skies.

Praise for the proofs that we re­ceive

Through Tho­mas

Lord

from Thee;

He doubt­ed that we might be­lieve

And nev­er doubt­ful be.

Praise al­so for the les­son taught

To our fond hu­man love

When Thou didst raise a wo­man’s thought

From earth to Heav’n above.

Through Tho­mas we Thy man­hood know;

And

through the Mag­da­lene

We learn to touch

while here be­low

Thy de­ity un­seen.