161. Throned Upon the Awful Tree

Throned upon the awful tree, Lamb of God, Your grief we see. Darkness veils Your anguished face; None its lines of woe can trace. None can tell what pangs unknown Hold You silent and alone. Silent through those three dread hours, Wrestling with the evil powers, Left alone with human sin, Gloom around You and within, Till th'appointed time is nigh, 'Till the Lamb of God may die. Hark, that cry that peals aloud Upward through the whelming cloud! You, the Father's only Son, You, His own anointed one, You are asking can it be? Why have You forsaken Me? Lord, should fear and anguish roll Darkly o'er our sinful soul, You, who once were thus bereft That Your own might ne'er be left, Teach us by that bitter cry In the gloom to know You nigh