Beneath an eastern sky,
Amid a rabble’s cry,
A Man went forth to die
For me.
Thorn-crowned His lovely head,
Blood-stained His every tread;
Cross-laden, on He sped
For me.
Pierced through His hands and feet,
Three hours there on Him beat
Fierce rays of noontide heat
For me.
Thus wast Thou made all mine:
Lord, make me wholly Thine:
Grant grace and strength divine
To me.
