O' the bitter whip and lash,
That tore through His very flesh;
Church, He hath done this for thee!
That thou may be at rest!
O' how sweet that crown of thorns,
Pressed on the Savior's head;
How He bore our iniquities,
And rescued us from death!
O' the nails put through His hands,
Pierced for our transgression;
That we may be with Him at last,
On earth and in Heav'n!
O' the pain, His dying breath,
Crying, 'it is finished!'
But then He was raised from the dead,
And His Kingdom wilt not diminish!
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