Luke 23: Our tears for Thee will nought avail

Our tears for Thee will nought avail
Unless we Lord our sins bewail,
The cause of all Thy pain,
Unless our rocky hearts be rent
In vain Thou bear'st our punishment.

And shedd'st Thy blood in vain.
But O, Thy blood the sorrow buys.
Thy blood the contrite grace supplies.

And melts my heart of stone:
Struck by Thy death with anguish deep.
Prostrate before Thy cross I weep,
And now myself bemoan.
Long as Thy mangled form appears,
I lie dissolved in gracious tears
Of love's soft sympathy:
And here I would through life remain,
And of those cruel sins complain
Which nail'd Thee to that tree!