In shadowed hour when heaven wept,
The Lamb of God to slaughter crept;
From Eden’s curse to Calvary’s tree,
He bore the weight of sin for me.

Betrayed with kiss in garden night,
Arrested by the temple’s might;
False witnesses their lies did weave,
While Pilate washed, yet could not cleave
The guilt that stained his trembling hand—
The Just One judged by sinful band.

Scourged with cords of twisted thorn,
His back laid bare, His flesh was torn;
The soldiers’ mockery filled the air,
A purple robe, a crown of care;
They spat upon the King of kings,
Who formed the stars and gave them wings.

Up Golgotha the cross He bore,
His shoulders crushed, His strength no more;
Simon compelled to share the load,
As women wept along the road.
“Nail Him!” the raging crowd did cry,
While heaven’s hosts in silence sighed.

They pierced His hands, they pierced His feet,
And raised Him high where thieves did meet;
Between two criminals He hung,
The sinless One for sinners stung.
“Father, forgive,” His mercy spoke,
While blood in crimson rivers broke.

The sun withdrew its golden light,
Three hours of darkness cloaked the sight;
“My God, my God,” the anguish rang,
As Psalmist’s words from cross He sang;
Forsaken, crushed beneath the wave
Of wrath that we alone should crave.

He thirsted there in body frail,
Yet thirsted more for souls to hail;
The vinegar they gave in scorn,
While soldiers diced His garments torn.
“Behold thy mother,” to the son
He spoke, though pain had scarce begun.

Then, “It is finished!”—victory’s shout,
The work of ages now complete;
No more the veil, no more the doubt—
The temple’s heart in twain was rent,
The earth convulsed, the rocks were rent,
As heaven’s justice found content.

O depth of love! O holy wrath!
The Father turned from perfect Son,
That we, the rebels, lost in path
Of death and dark, might see the dawn.
He who knew no sin was made our sin,
That we in Him God’s righteousness might win.

The spear that pierced His sacred side
Released the flood—both blood and tide—
The water pure, the blood that saves,
For all who trust what grace has paved.
No work of ours, no tear, no vow
Could pay the debt—’twas finished now.

Behold the Man upon the tree:
The Bridegroom slain for His bride to be;
The Shepherd struck, the sheep scattered wide,
Yet gathered back by wounds that cried
Of mercy vast and love so deep
It stilled the storms and woke the sleep.

O soul, draw near this wondrous cross,
Count all but loss for such a cost;
Let pride dissolve in sorrow’s stream,
And boast alone in Christ’s redeemed.
For here the curse became the cure,
The grave prepared a conqueror.

Though Friday dark with death did reign,
The stone shall roll, the dawn shall break again;
But on this day we bow and mourn
The price that purchased our return.

All glory to the Lamb once slain,
Whose blood has washed away all stain;
To Father, Son, and Spirit three—
One God in perfect Trinity.
Amen.