Before the Cross

My Lord, my Master, at They feet adoring,

I see Thee bowed beneath Thy load of woe:

For me, a sinner, is They life-blood pouring;

For Thee, my Savior, scarce my tears will flow.

Thine own disciple to Thy foes had sold Thee,

With friendship's kiss and loyal word he came;

How oft of faithful love my lips have told Thee,

While Thou hast seen my falsehood and my shame.

With taunts and scoffs they mock what seem They weakness,

With blows and outrage adding pain to pain;

Thou art unmoved and steadfast in Thy meekness;

When I am wronged, how quickly I complain!

My Lord, my Savior, when I see Thee wearing

Upon Thy bleeding brow the crown of Thorn,

Shall I for pleasure live, or shrink from bearing

Whate'er my lot may be of pain or scorn?

O Victim of Thy love, O pangs most healing,

O saving death, O wounds that I adore,

O shame most glorious! Christ, before Thee kneeling,

I pray Thee keep me Thine for evermore.

by Thomas Benson Pollock  (1836-1896)

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