712    L.M.     J. Hart
Christ in the Garden. Matt. 26. 36-46

1 Come hither, ye that fain would know
  The exceeding sinfulness of sin;
  Come see a scene of matchless woe,
  And tell me what it all can mean.

2 Behold the darling Son of God
  Bowed down with horror to the ground,
  Wrung at the heart, and sweating blood,
  His eyes in tears of sorrow drowned!

3 See how the Victim panting lies,
  His soul with bitter anguish pressed;
  He sighs, he faints, he groans, he cries,
  Dismayed, dejected, shocked, distressed.

4 What pangs are these that tear his heart?
  What burden’s this that’s on him laid?
  What means this agony of smart?
  What makes our Maker hang his head?

5 ’Tis Justice, with its iron rod,
  Inflicting strokes of wrath divine;
  ’Tis the avenging hand of God,
  Incensed at all your sins and mine.

6 Deep in his breast our names were cut;
  He undertook our desperate debt;
  Such loads of guilt were on him put,
  He could but just sustain the weight.

7 Then let us not ourselves deceive;
  For, while of sin we lightly deem,
  Whatever notions we may have,
  Indeed we are not much like him.