How deep the wounds in Jesu’s soul,
When He a curse was made;
When for our sin God’s sword awoke,
To smite Him in our stead.
No soothing balm His grief assuaged,
A Man of sorrows He;
My soul, behold Jehovah bruise
His Fellow on the tree.
His well-beloved, His delight,
His own co-equal Son,
Whom angels laud, the joy of heav’n,
The glorious Holy One.
Death’s sorrows all encompess’d Him,
To God He cried to save;
Fierce storms and billows answer’d loud,
Wave hurried after wave.
And why did shame, and curse, and wrath,
The guiltless One o’ertake
My soul, adore―in wondrous love,
He suffered for thy sake.
Thine was the guilt, the curse thy due,
But Jesus bore it all;
His precious blood hath ransom’d thee,
From death’s eternal thrall.
A willing sacrifice was He,
Harmless and undefiled;
The spotless Lamb―the Word made flesh―
God’s pure and holy Child.
How great the joy of Jesus now,
He liveth who was dead;
He burst the bands of death and hell―
His captive saints hath freed.
Then let our grateful praises rise,
The woes, the joys, the theme,
Of Him who died and rose again,
His people to redeem.
His praise let heart and life declare,
All glory to His name;
Above the heavens exalt, extol,
And bless the great “I AM.”