Yonder—amazing sight!—I see
    Th' incarnate Son of God,
    Expiring on the accursed tree,
    And welt'ring in his blood.

    Behold a purple torrent run
    Down from his hands and head:
    The crimson tide puts out the sun;
    His groans awake the dead.

    The trembling earth, the darken'd sky
    Proclaim the truth aloud;
    And, with the amaz'd centurion, cry,
    'This is the son of God!'

    So great, so vast a sacrifice,
    May well my hope revive:
    If God's own Son thus bleeds and dies,
    The sinner sure may live.

    Oh, that these cords of love divine
    Might draw me, Lord, to thee!
    Thou hast my heart, it shall be thine—
    Thine it shall ever be!
                                                    Dr. S. Stennett