"If a man have committed a sin worthy of death, and he be to be put to death, and you hang him
on a tree; his body shall not remain all night upon the tree, but you shall in any wise bury him that
day (for he who is hanged is accursed of God), that your land be not defiled" (Deut. 21:22,23).

"Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us:for it is written,
Cursed is every one who hangs on a tree" (Gal. 3:13).

Worthy, O Lord of death am I,
The just award of sin;
Unfit to live beneath Thy sky,
‘Tis right that I should hang, and die,
Guilty, condemned, unclean:
That cross of shame, that cursed tree,
Is the just doom of one like me.

Thy sun might justly seek to hide
His beams from eyes like mine,
Who, in my God-renouncing pride,
His Maker day by day defied;
Thy stars refuse to shine:
Yea, all good creatures might complain
Of one, like me, a loathsome stain_

Unfit to live on Thy fair earth,
Unfit to breathe its air;
A tainted traitor from my birth,
A discord to all holy mirth,
A blight on all things fair;
Worthy alone of death must be
One, that has sinned, O God, like me.

A hiding-place beneath its sod,
For one too vile to live;
That died beneath the curse of God,
Smitten by law’s most righteous rod,
Is all that earth could give,
Till that tremendous judgment-day,
When earth itself shall pass away.

Thy angels, who delight to praise
And serve their glorious King,
Whose will at once Thy will obeys,
Look down with horror and amaze,

On such a guilty thing;
And ready stand with flaming sword,
To crush the scorners of their Lord.

Oh, wretched man! where can I go?
What arm can help, or save?
I look behind, around, below_
Naught see, or hear, but deepening woe:
Before me yawns the grave;
Beyond the darkness of the tomb,
The horrors of eternal doom!

"Look unto Me," the Saviour cries.
Behold! upon the tree,
Between two thieves, Emmanuel dies,
The Lamb of God, a sacrifice,
He bears the curse for me_
Oh, love unsearchable, divine,
His life He gives to ransom mine!

Oh, hour most solemn! Hour alone,
In solitary might,
When God the Father’s only Son,
As man, for sinners to atone,
Expires_amazing sight!
The Lord of glory crucified!
The Lord of life has bled and died.

Oh, mystery of mysteries!
Of life and death the tree;
Center of two eternities,
Which look with rapt, adoring eyes,
Onward and back to Thee!
Oh, Cross of Christ, where all His pain
And death_is my eternal gain!

Oh, how my inmost heart doth move,
While gazing on that tree;
The death of the Incarnate Love!
What shame, what grief, what joy I prove,
That He should die for me!
My heart is broken by that cry,
"Eli, lama sabachthani?"

Worthy of death, O Lord, I am;

That vengeance was my due:
Thy grace upon Thy spotless Lamb,
Laid all my sins, and guilt, and shame;
Justice my Surety slew;
With Him I in my Surety died,
With Him I there was crucified.

When Thou didst make Him "sin" for me,
Thy Son Thou didst not spare;
Oh, what exceeding agony,
All needed, Lord, to set me free,
My Jesus, Thou didst bear!
Now peace and righteousness can meet,
And kiss Thy wounded hands and feet.

They bury, ere the setting sun,
In the new rock-hewn cave,
The body of Thy Holy One;
They set the watch; they seal the stone,
To keep Him in the grave:
Buried with Him myself I see,
So low He chose to lie for me.

But lo! His grave is empty now,
He sits at Thy right hand:
Honor and glory crown His brow,
Before Him all the angels bow,
And wait His high command:
The Lamb of God for sinners slain,
Lives as the Lord of all to reign.

Thy Righteousness the sentence spoke,
That sent Thy Son to die:
Thy Righteousness from death awoke,
And all the powers of darkness broke,
And raised Him up on high;
His spotless righteousness to own,
Thou hast exalted to Thy throne.

And now Thy mercy finds delight,
Right royally to prove
How precious He is in Thy sight;
And all the wondrous depth and height
Of Thy surpassing love:
With Him, who bore our sins alone,

Thy grace has made His ransomed one.

Quickened with Him with life divine,
Raised with Him from the dead,
His own_and all His own are Thine!_
Shall with Him in His glories shine,
His Church’s living Head:
We, who were worthy but to die,
Now with Him, "Abba, Father," cry.