Songs

O Christ, what burdens, bowe’d Thy head!

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				8.6.8.6.8.6.


1	O Christ, what burdens, bowe’d Thy head!
	Our load was laid on Thee;
	Thou stoodest in the sinner’s stead,
	Didst bear all ill for me.
	A Victim led, Thy blood was shed;
	Now there’s no load for me.

2	Death and the curse were in our cup:
	O Christ, ’twas full for Thee;
	But Thou hast drain’d the last dark drop,
	’Tis empty now for me.
	That bitter cup, love drank it up;
	Now blessing’s draught for me.

3	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.

4	The tempest’s awful voice was heard,
	O Christ, it broke on Thee!
	Thy open bosom was my ward,
	It braved the storm for me.
	Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred;
	Now cloudless peace for me.

5	Jehovah, bade His sword awake;
	O 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.

6	For me, Lord Jesus, Thou hast died,
	And I have died in Thee!
	Thou’rt risen: my hands are all untied,
	And now Thou liv’st in me.
	When purified, made white and tried,
	Thy glory then for me!

							A.R. Cousin