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Christ Crucified. 4.55
Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and awful, Who is He?
By the prayer for them that slew,
M Lord ! they know not what they do ! "
By the spoil'd and empty grave,
By the souls He died to save,
By the conquest He hath won,
By the saints before His Throne,
By the rainbow round His brow,
Son of God ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou !
Henry Hart Mit?nan. 1827.
Not all the blood of beasts,
On Jewish altars slain, Could give the guilty conscience peace,
Or wash away the stain.
But Christ, the heavenly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away ; A Sacrifice of nobler name
And richer blood than they.
My faith would lay her hand
On that dear Head of Thine, While like a penitent I stand,
And there confess my sin.
My soul looks back to see
The burdens Thou didst bear, When hanging on th' accursed tree,
And hopes her guilt was there.
Isaac Watts, 1709.