If Thou, O God, the Christ didst leave,
In him, not Thee, I do believe;
To Jesus dying, all alone,
To his dark Cross, not Thy bright Throne,
My hopeless hands will cleave.

But if it was Thy love that died,
Thy voice that in the darkness cried,
The print of nails I long to see,
In Thy hands, God, who fashioned me,
Show me Thy pierced side.

If Thou, O God, the Christ didst leave,
In him, not Thee, I do believe;
— — To Jesus dying, all alone,
— — To his dark Cross, not Thy bright Throne,
My hopeless hands will cleave.

But if it was Thy love that died,
Thy voice that in the darkness cried,
— — The print of nails I long to see,
— — In Thy hands, God, who fashioned me,
Show me Thy pierced side.