I see the crowd in Pilate’s hall,
Their furious cries I hear;
Their shouts of “Crucify” appall,
Their curses fill my ear.
And of that shouting multitude
I feel that I am one,
And in that din of voices rude
I recognize my own.
I see the scourgers rend the flesh
Of God’s beloved Son;
And as they smite, I feel afresh
That I of them am one.
Around the cross the throng I see
That mock the Sufferer’s groan,
Yet still my voice it seems to be,
As if I mocked alone.
’Twas I that shed the sacred blood,
I nailed Him to the tree,
I crucified the Christ of God,
I joined the mockery.
Yet not the less that blood avails
To cleanse me from my sin,
And not the less that cross prevails
To give me peace within.
“Through this man [ Jesus] is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins: and by Him all that believe are justified from all things” (Acts 13:38-39).