Looking at the Cross

For this year’s Good Friday, here’s one from John Newton.

This was published in the Olney Hymns, 1779, Bk. ii., No. 57, under the title ‘Looking at the Cross’.

In spite of it being one of his lesser-known hymns, it carries his trademarks. Note the preponderance of monosyllabic words and the theologically-informed piety.

In my home church back in the day, we sung it with a refrain after each verse:

O, can it be, upon a tree

The Saviour died for me?

My soul is thrilled, my heart is filled,

To think He died for me!

In evil long I took delight,

Unawed by shame or fear,

Till a new object struck my sight,

And stopped my wild career:

I saw One hanging on a Tree,

In agonies and blood,

Who fix’d His languid eyes on me,

As near His Cross I stood.

Sure never, till my latest breath,

Can I forget that look:

It seem’d to charge me with His death,

Though not a word He spoke:

My conscience felt and owned the guilt,

And plunged me in despair,

I saw my sins His blood had spilt,

And helped to nail Him there.

Alas! I knew not what I did!

But now my tears are vain;

Where shall my trembling soul be hid?

For I the Lord had slain!

A second look He gave, which said,

‘I freely all forgive;

This blood is for thy ransom paid;

I die, that thou may’st live.’

Thus, while His death my sin displays,

In all its blackest hue,

Such is the mystery of grace,

It seals my pardon too.

With pleasing grief, and mournful joy,

My spirit now is fill’d,

That I should such a life destroy,

Yet live by Him I kill’d.

Wounded for Me

For this year’s Good Friday...

The story goes that in the years following the First World War, William Gilbert Ovens (1870–1945) saw a wounded veteran limping past on the street and was impressed by the thought that, in a sense, the young man had taken that wound for him.

With those thoughts in mind, Ovens wrote a chorus, ‘Wounded for Me’, which provides the first stanza of the below hymn. Gladys Watkin Roberts (1888–1988) added four more stanzas to complete the picture of Jesus dying for me, risen for me, living for me, and coming for me.

Wounded for me, wounded for me,

There on the cross He was wounded for me;

Gone my transgressions, and now I am free,

All because Jesus was wounded for me.

Dying for me, dying for me,

There on the cross He was dying for me;

Now in His death my redemption I see,

All because Jesus was dying for me.

Risen for me, risen for me,

Up from the grave He has risen for me;

Now evermore from death’s sting I am free,

All because Jesus has risen for me.

Living for me, living for me,

Up in the skies He is living for me;

Daily He’s pleading and praying for me,

All because Jesus is living for me.

Coming for me, coming for me,

Soon in the air He is coming for me;

Then with what joy His dear face I shall see,

Oh, how I praise Him! He’s coming for me.

William G. Ovens (1870–1945) and Gladys W. Roberts (1888–1988)

Hallelujah! What a Saviour!

For this year’s Good Friday:

Man of Sorrows! what a name

For the Son of God, who came

Ruined sinners to reclaim.

Hallelujah! What a Saviour!

Bearing shame and scoffing rude,

In my place condemned He stood;

Sealed my pardon with His blood.

Hallelujah! What a Saviour!

Guilty, vile, and helpless we;

Spotless Lamb of God was He;

‘Full atonement!’ can it be?

Hallelujah! What a Saviour!

Lifted up was He to die;

‘It is finished!’ was His cry;

Now in Heav’n exalted high.

Hallelujah! What a Saviour!

When He comes, our glorious King,

All His ransomed home to bring,

Then anew His song we’ll sing:

Hallelujah! What a Saviour!

Philip P. Bliss (1838–76)

Jesus, the Crucified, Pleads for Me

For Good Friday:

Jesus, the Crucified, pleads for me,

While he is nailed to the shameful tree.

Scorned and forsaken, derided and cursed,

See how his enemies do their worst!

Yet, in the midst of the torture and shame,
Jesus, the Crucified, breathes my name:

Wonder of wonders, oh, how can it be?

Jesus, the Crucified, pleads for me!

Lord, I have left thee, I have denied,

Followed the world in my selfish pride;

Lord, I have joined in the hateful cry,

Slay him, away with him, crucify!

Lord, I have done it, oh! ask me not how;

Woven the thorns for thy tortured brow;

Yet in his pity, so boundless and free,

Jesus, the Crucified, pleads for me!

‘Though thou hast left me and wandered away,

Chosen the darkness instead of the day;

Though thou art covered with many a stain,

Though thou hast wounded me oft and again;

Though thou hast followed thy wayward will;

Yet, in my pity, I love thee still.’

Wonder of wonders it ever must be!
Jesus, the Crucified, pleads for me!

Jesus is dying, in agony sore,
Jesus is suffering more and more,
Jesus is bowed with the weight of his woe,
Jesus is faint with each bitter throe.
Jesus is bearing it all in my stead,

Pity incarnate for me has bled;

Wonder of wonders it ever must be!

Jesus, the Crucified, pleads for me!

William John Sparrow-Simpson (1860–1952)

Great God, in Christ You Call Our Name

This year’s Good Friday hymn is one that belongs more appropriately to Maundy Thursday. I cited stanzas three and four (below) at our church’s Maundy Thursday Breaking of Bread service this year.

I always find the stanzas deeply moving when I return to them. They’re a much-needed reminder that if I don’t always see Jesus, it’s probably because I’m looking in the wrong place. He’s not necessarily ‘up there somewhere’; as often as not, he’s ‘down there’, washing out the muck between my toes.

Great God, your love has called us here

as we, by love, for love were made.

Your living likeness still we bear,

though marred, dishonoured, disobeyed.

We come, with all our heart and mind,

your call to hear, your love to find.

We come with self-inflicted pains

of broken trust and chosen wrong;

half-free, half-bound by inner chains;

by social forces swept along,

by powers and systems close confined;

yet seeking hope for humankind.

Great God, in Christ you call our name

and then receive us as your own,

not through some merit, right or claim

but by your gracious love alone.

We strain to glimpse your mercy-seat

and find you kneeling at our feet.

Then take the towel, and break the bread,

and humble us, and call us friends.

Suffer and serve till all are fed,

and show how grandly love intends

to work till all creation sings,

to fill all worlds, to crown all things.

Great God, in Christ you set us free

your life to live, your joy to share.

Give us your Spirit’s liberty

to turn from guilt and dull despair

and offer all that faith can do

while love is making all things new

Brian Wren (b. 1936)

Jesus, Thy Blood and Righteousness

For this year’s Good Friday.

The words are a translation by John Wesley (1703-91) of a hymn written by Nicolaus Ludwig Graf von Zinzendorf (1700-60).

Jesus, thy blood and righteousness

my beauty are, my glorious dress;

’midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,

with joy shall I lift up my head.

Bold shall I stand in thy great day;

for who aught to my charge shall lay?

Fully absolved through these I am

from sin and fear, from guilt and shame.

When from the dust of death I rise

to claim my mansion in the skies,

e’en then this shall be all my plea,

Jesus hath lived, hath died, for me.

Jesus, be endless praise to thee,

whose boundless mercy hath for me,

for me a full atonement made,

an everlasting ransom paid.

O let the dead now hear thy voice;

now bid thy banished ones rejoice;

their beauty this, their glorious dress,

Jesus, thy blood and righteousness.

Looking at the Cross

For this year’s Good Friday, here is one of John Newton’s lesser-known hymns. This was published in the Olney Hymns, 1779, Bk. ii., No. 57, under the title ‘Looking at the Cross’.

In evil long I took delight,

Unawed by shame or fear,

Till a new object struck my sight,

And stopped my wild career:

I saw One hanging on a Tree,

In agonies and blood,

Who fix’d His languid eyes on me,

As near His Cross I stood.

Sure never, till my latest breath,

Can I forget that look:

It seem’d to charge me with His death,

Though not a word He spoke:

My conscience felt and owned the guilt,

And plunged me in despair,

I saw my sins His blood had spilt,

And helped to nail Him there.

Alas! I knew not what I did!

But now my tears are vain;

Where shall my trembling soul be hid?

For I the Lord had slain!

A second look He gave, which said,

‘I freely all forgive;

This blood is for thy ransom paid;

I die, that thou may’st live.’

Thus, while His death my sin displays,

In all its blackest hue,

Such is the mystery of grace,

It seals my pardon too.

With pleasing grief, and mournful joy,

My spirit now is fill’d,

That I should such a life destroy,

Yet live by Him I kill’d.

Beneath the Cross of Jesus

For this year’s Good Friday. We used to sing this in the first home church to which I belonged, but I haven’t sung it in a congregation for over 30 years. As a precocious teenager, I decided I would like this to be sung at my funeral. I think I still would. I like that it seems to tell a story. I like it as a statement of what really matters – ‘My glory all the cross’. I think I was aware even as a young lad of its somewhat sentimental tone; but, for me at least, it stays on the right side of mawkishness!

Beneath the cross of Jesus

I fain would take my stand,

The shadow of a mighty rock

Within a weary land;

A home within the wilderness,

A rest upon the way,

From the burning of the noontide heat,

And the burden of the day.

O safe and happy shelter!

O refuge tried and sweet!

O trysting-place where heaven’s love

And heaven’s justice meet!

As to the holy patriarch

That wondrous dream was given,

So seems my Saviour’s cross to me

A ladder up to heaven.

There lies, beneath its shadow,

But on the farther side,

The darkness of an awful grave

That gapes both deep and wide:

And there between us stands the cross,

Two arms outstretched to save;

Like a watchman set to guard the way

From that eternal grave.

Upon that cross of Jesus

Mine eye at times can see

The very dying form of One

Who suffered there for me;

And from my smitten heart, with tears,

Two wonders I confess:

The wonders of His glorious love,

And my own worthlessness.

I take, O cross, thy shadow

For my abiding place;

I ask no other sunshine than

The sunshine of His face;

Content to let the world go by,

To know no gain nor loss:

My sinful self my only shame,

My glory all the cross.

Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane (1830-1869)

O Perfect Life of Love

For this year’s Good Friday, based on John 19:30 – ‘It is finished.’

O perfect life of love!

All, all is finished now,

All that He left His throne above

To do for us below.

No work is left undone

Of all the Father willed;

His toil, His sorrows, one by one,

The Scriptures have fulfilled.

No pain that we can share

But He has felt its smart;

All forms of human grief and care

Have pierced that tender heart.

And on His thorn-crowned head

And on His sinless soul

Our sins in all their guilt were laid,

That he might make us whole.

In perfect love He dies;

For me He dies, for me.

O all-atoning Sacrifice,

I cling by faith to Thee.

In ev’ry time of need,

Before the judgment throne,

Thy work, O Lamb of God, I’ll plead

Thy merits, not mine own.

Yet work, O Lord, in me,

As Thou for me hast wrought;

And let my love the answer be

To grace Thy love has brought.

Henry W. Baker, 1821-77