1 Come hither ye, that fain would know
Th' exceeding Sinfulness of Sin:
Come see a Scene of matchless Woe;
And tell me what it all can mean.

2 Behold the darling Son of God
Bow'd down with Horror to the Ground,
Wring at the Heart, and sweating Blood,
His Eyes in Tears of Sorrow drown'd

3 See how the Victim panting lies,
His Soul with bitter Anguish prest.
He sighs, he faints, he groans, he cries,
Dismay'd, dejected, shock'd, distrest.

4 What Pangs are these that tear his Heart!
What Burden's this that's on him laind?
What means this Agony of Smart?
What makes our Maker hang his Head?

5 'Tis Justice with it's Iron Rod,
Inflicting Strokes of Wrath divine:
'Tis the vindictive Hand of God,
Incens'd at all your Sins, and mine.

6 Deep in his Breast our Names were cut,
He undertook our desp'rate Debt.
Such Loads of Guilt were on him put,
He could but just sustain the Weight.

7 Then let us not our selves deceive:
For while of Sin we lightly deem,
Whatever Notions we may have,
Indeed we are not much like him.