Hushed is the wood-birdís note, silent her song of glee,
Shrouded in gloom the sun, shaking is Calvary;
Mute are the angel hosts, awed by the sight they see,
The mighty Son of God dies for humanity.
Behold, He dies, the Savior dies
Upon the cross for thee.
Pierced are those loving hands which have so often lain
Tenderly on the sick, making them whole again;
Bleeding His wounded feet, thorns are the crown He wears,
Thus on the cruel cross manís load of sin He bears.
Nature in sympathy trembles and hides her face,
The very hosts of ill fear and forsake the place;
Of all existing things man looks in scorn alone,
Feels no remorseful pang, hard is his heart of stone.
Gaze on Him hanging there, know it was all for thee,
And that thy sinful deeds brought Him to Calvary;
Love for thy precious soul caused Him to gladly die,
That He might ransom thee for that bright home on high.