Throned up-on the aw-ful tree,
King of grief, I watch with Thee.
Dark-ness veils Thine an-guished face:
None its lines of woe can trace:
None can tell what pangs un-known
Hold Thee si-lent and a-lone.
Si-lent through those three dread hours,
Wrest-ling with the e-vil powers,
Left a-lone with hu-man sin,
Gloom a-round Thee and with-in,
Till th'ap-point-ed time is nigh,
Till the Lamb of God may die.
Hark, that cry that peals a-loud
Up-ward through the whelm-ing cloud!
Thou, the Fa-ther's on-ly Son,
Thou, His own A-noint-ed One,
Thou dost ask Him--can it be?
--"Why hast Thou for-sak-en Me?"
Lord, should fear and an-guish roll
Dark-ly o'er my sin-ful soul,
Thou who once wast thus be-reft
That Thine own might ne'er be left,
Teach me by that bit-ter cry
In the gloom to know Thee nigh.