HYMNS ON THE PASSION

which can be used in the congregations during Lent

at the weekly service and on Days of Prayer

according to the custom of each place

[by Thomas Kingo]

[from the Gradual of 1699]

[Translation © Mark DeGarmeaux unless noted]

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Evangelical Lutheran Hymnary home page (ELH has 16 hymns by Thomas Kingo)

O come, let us worship (A Study in Lutheran Liturgy and Hymnody by M. DeGarmeaux) (107k)

The Path of Understanding -- The Development of Lectionaries and their use in the Lutheran Church (by the Rev. Alexander Ring)

Jesus stricken, smitten, and crowned with thorns

VIL DOG HIMLEN INTET TALE* [14]

 

1 Yet will heaven naught be speaking

While our Jesus' goes His way?

Shall their lies be ever breaking

Darkened truth by light of day?

Shall our Jesus, whom we know

Without guilt did ever go

Now be beaten, persecuted?

Shall He now be executed?

 

2 Heaven now in silence lieth

While they stretch both law and right

And for friendship now He crieth

As they turn the screws so tight!

And the judge doth contemplate

That this trial is for hate

Bringing Jesus burden weary

While true justice still must tarry.

 

3 He the people is amusing-

To their will they press Him on.

Every cursed eye be musing

Yet to see and look upon

If He now will serve them still

For their memory so ill.

Jesus with the scourge is beaten

With injustice they mistreat Him.

 

4 Whip and scourge we must remember

Beating Jesus all about

Every tired and weakened member

Till the blood comes streaming out!

Every lash brings deepest woes

To the flesh and bone it goes

As a worm we see Him wringing

And His heart within is stinging.

 

5 After all this bloody lashing

Which Him covers over all

On His body they are placing

Robe of royal purple pall

With a cloak of honour tied

They may lead Him forth despised;

Glorious God in royal clothing,

They may tread upon with loathing.

 

6 Now they place a crown of hatred

On the Saviour's sweetest head,

Which from thorns they quickly plaited

(Thorns, the curse of sin's first deed)

Sharp as sword and needle edge

Serpent's fangs, the dreaded pledge,

'Gainst His sacred temple bruising

Forth His precious blood comes oozing.

 

7 Regal staff doth now await Him,

(With a reed they Him deride)

And a crown of thorns they plait Him

On His head as show of might.

'Round His head there now do flood

Thousand springs of flowing blood;

He is filled with so much sorrow,

That My tongue no words can borrow.

 

8 Mockingly they kneel before Him,

Slap His bloody cheek anon;

Every scoundrel bows before Him

And with scorn they spit upon!

But their wrath demands much more

Fill Him yet with blood and gore;

All demand to crucify Him,

Nothing else will satisfy them.

 

9 O my Jesus, how I wonder

That my heart for Thee must bleed,

For my conscience sad doth ponder

How I scourged Thee oft indeed.

And my sins so crude and rash

Hang upon each strike and lash

Every time that Thou art smitten

And with many woes art beaten.

 

10 Therefore I will now be scourging

Every lust within my blood,

And my soul with tears be purging

By Thy gracious crimson-flood!

Now by grace I cry to Thee,

Precious Jesus, rescue me

I with faith embrace Thee gladly

While Thy wounds Thou suffer sadly.

 

11 Crown of thorns which ever stings Thee

By my sins was formed around!

My transgressions' wretched fingers,

Twisted this most awful crown!

'Round Thee harshly I did bind

With my evil stubborn mind,

Innocence from Thee now draining

Many streams of blood, Thee staining.

 

12 Therefore daily I'll be weeding

Thorns and thistles of my sin!

Let Thy wounds o'er me be bleeding

From Thy body pure within.

I will ponder on the thorns

Which Thou for my soul hast borne,

All my sin and Satan treading,

Crush them well while Thou art bleeding.

 

13 With repentance now I tell Thee

How I scorned Thee with by my hand

Help me once again to quell me

And my sin fore'er to ban.

I am but a broken reed;

Hear me, Jesus in my need.

When I strike Thee without measure,

Cleanse me by Thy gracious pleasure.

 

14 Every time Thy precious glory

As a fool I cast away

Spare me yet the wretched story

Of eternal shame to pay!

Wash it all in gracious flood

Blot it out with Thy dear blood.

That with all my sins forgiven,

I eternal life am given.

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