Jehovah lifted up His rod ;
O Christ, it fell on Thee !
Thou wast sore stricken of Thy God ;
There's not one stroke for me.
Thy tears, Thy blood, beneath it flowed;
Thy bruising healeth me.
Jehovah bade His sword awake,
0 Christ, it woke 'gainst Thee;
Thy blood the flaming blade must slake,
Thy heart its sheath must be;
All for my sake, my peace to make :
Now sleeps that sword for me.
The tempest's awful voice was heard;
0 Christ, it broke on Thee !
Thy open bosom was mv ward,
It braved the storm for me.
Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred;
Now cloudless peace for me.
For me, Lord Jesus, Thou hast died,
And I have died in Thee :
Thou'rt risen—my bands are all untied;
And now Thou liv'st in me:
When purified, made white, and tried,
Thy Glory then for me.