445

Throned upon the awful tree

Throned upon the awful tree,
King of grief, your form we see;
shadows veil your anguished face,
none its lines of woe can trace:
none can tell what pangs unknown
hold you silent and alone.

2. Silent through those dreadful hours,
wrestling with the evil powers;
left alone with human sin,
darkness round you and within,
till between the earth and sky,
you, the Lamb of God, must die.

3. Hark, the cry that rings aloud
upwards through the covering cloud!
Christ, the Father’s only Son;
Jesus, his anointed one,
you are asking – can it be? –
‘Why have you forsaken me?’

4. Lord, should fear and anguish roll
over my poor darkened soul,
since you once alone were left
that we might not be bereft;
teach me by that bitter cry,
you are near me, though I die.

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