His Death

"He was wounded for our transgressions."

Last evening we sat around a table of candles with
bread and wine. As the service of scripture reading
and hymns progressed, the candles were snuffed
out until with the last hymn, all was shrouded in
darkness and we left silently from the place of
suffering.

O sacred Head, sore wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down!
O kingly Head surrounded
     With thorns, Thine only crown!
How pale art Thou with anguish,
      With sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish,
     Which once was bright as morn!

O Lord of life and glory
     What bliss till now was thine!
I read the wondrous story;
     I joy to call thee mine.
Thy grief and bitter passion
     Were all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
     But thine the deadly pain.

What language shall I borrow
     To praise Thee, heavenly Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
     Thy pity without end?
Lord, make me Thine forever,
     Nor let me faithless prove;
O let me never, never
     Abuse such dying love.
(Paul Gerhardt 1607-76)