1 The storm of sorrow howls around
That bleak and cheerless tree,
Where hangs the Sufferer, throned and crowned—
The cross of Calvary.
2 A weight of woe that head bows down,
Deep anguish racks His heart;
Face, hands, and feet, red torrents drown;
Those wounds—how wild their smart.
3 He weeps, He prays, He cries that last
And wildly wailing cry;
Now through His mother’s heart hath passed
The sword of agony.
4 He dies—hills, mountains, rocks and graves
Are riven, rent the main;
Yea, rock the cliffs, fields, floods and waves;
The veil is rent in twain.
5 Why then are our hard hearts unrent?
When sun, and moon, and stars
Wail sadly, with the world’s lament:
What sin our sorrow bars?
6 Wail, wail, for grief’s dark hour is this,
Young men and maidens, wail;
Anoint, and wash, and wipe, and kiss
Those feet so deadly pale.
7 Anoint, and wash with tears, and wipe,
With love’s long flowing tress,
That Lamb of Love—whose every stripe
Doth purge our guiltiness.
8 Oh! then, the peace and joy of all,
Jesu, our life and bliss—
In yon bright land our coronal,
Be Thou our light in this.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #14159
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