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The Crucifixion of Christ A story most loving I'll tell Of Jesus, the wondrous surprise (Concerning the Lord from the skies) He suffered to save us from Hell That sinners -- thou sinners -- might rise. He left his exalted abode When man by transgression was lost. I'm telling the love of our God He shed forth His blood as the cause (cost). Oh, did my dear Jesus thus bleed? And pity his chosen lost race. From whence did such mercies proceed? Such boundless compassion and grace? His body bore anguish and pain His spirit 'most sunk with the load. A short time before he was slain His sweat was as great drops of blood. Oh, was it for crimes I have done The saviour was hailed with a kiss By Judas, the traitor, alone? Was ever compassion like this? The ruffians all joined in the band Confined Him and led Him away. THe cords wrapped around his sweet hands, Come, mourners, look at Him I pray. To Pilate's stone pillars, when led His body was lashed with whips. It never was any might said A railing word dropped from His lips. They made Him a crown out of thorns They took Him and did Him abuse They clothed Him in crimson and scorn And hailed him the King of the Jews. They loaded the lamb of the Cross And drove Him up Calvary's hill. Come mourners, a moment, and pause As nature looks solemn and still. They rushed the nails through His hands Transfixed and tortured His feet Oh brethren, see passive He stands To look at the sight of His grave. He cried, "My Father, my God Forsaken, Thou'st left me alone!" The cross was all covered with blood, The temple was bursted in twain. He groaned His last, and He died The sun, it refused to shine They rushed the spear in His side, The lovely Redeemer is mine. He fought the hard battle and won This vict'ry, and gave it most free. Oh brethren, look forward snd run In hopes that His Kingdom you see. And when He in the cloud shall appear With angels all at His command, And thousands of Christians be there All singing, with harps in a band. How pleasant and happy those years Enjoying such beams of delight; His spirit to Christians he'll show Oh, Jesus, I long for the sight. I long to mount up in the skies In Paradise make my abode. And sing of salvation on high, And rest with our glorious God. From Folk Songs Out of Wisconson, Peters. Collected from Charlie Spencer. Note: I collected an almost identical version of this in Salt Lick, Kentucky, in 1953 from Mary Nealy; this is the only time I've ever seen it published. Words in parentheses are the variants sung by Nealy. RG RG
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