EVENING MEDITATION ON THE CRUCIFIXION My Lord my Saviour died, For guilty sinners sake: The tokens of his love Oft keep mine eyes awake. I cannot chuse but mourn, That He should suffer so; And yet it is the source Whence all my comforts flow. I cannot chuse but mourn, Whose sin made him To bleed; And yet such sacrifice My soul from death hath freed. Twas not the treacherous Jews That did my Lord betray; It was heinous sins, More treacherous far than they. Twas not the soldier’s spear That pierc’d my Saviour’s side, Twas my Ingratitude. My unbelief, my pride. These were the bloody thorns That did his temples wound. And caus’d those sacred drops, That did bedew the ground. And when his Father’s wrath Drew forth that bitter cry. He yielded up his life For rebels such as I. And can I chuse but mourn, When skies and rocks did rend. And Nature veil’d her face, At sight of such an end. But haste My soul to view. Thy happiness restor’d, And death and hell subdu’d. By the triumphant Lord. Put off thy mourning weed, Thy Jesus reigns on high. Receiving gifts for men, For rebels such as I.