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O Christ, what burdens bowed Thy head!




O Christ, what burdens bowed 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.
Death and the curse were in our cup:
O Christ, 'twas full for Thee;
but Thou hast drained the last dark drop,
'tis empty now for me.
That bitter cup, love drank it up;
now blessing's draught for me.
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.
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.
Jehovah bade His sword awake;
O Christ, it woke 'gainst Thee!
Thy blood the flaming blade must slake;
Thine heart its sheath must be;
all for my sake, my peace to make;
now sleeps that sword for me.
For me, Lord Jesus, Thou hast died,
and I have died in Thee!
Thou'rt ris'n-my hands are all untied,
and now Thou liv'st in me.
When purified, made white and tried,
Thy glory then for me!


Anne R. Cousin



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