John Brownlie (trans.) · 72 of 89

The burden of my sin was great

I The burden of my sin was great, My soul with pain was crushed; And every voice of promise sweet, Was for the moment hushed.

II Dark clouds come rolling o'er my head, And quick the night came down;— O Christ, if Thine was pain like this, Thorns were a fitting crown.

III O night without, and night within, And doubt, and fear, and dread; And all my folly and my sin, Before my eyes were spread.

IV And not a hand to still my pain, And not a voice to bless;— O Christ, did all Thy pain and woe Give anguish like to this?

V A morning comes when night is past, A calm when storms are spent; And healing to my wounded soul, My God in mercy sent.

VI I saw the Cross upon the hill, I felt the dark come down;— The anguish of His wounded soul, The stinging of the crown.

VII And as I looked, the morning grew, The calm of morn was mine; For ah! the anguish that He bore, My troubled soul, was thine.