True Shepherd, stricken for the frightened fold.
Art thou asleep, my soul? Art thou afraid
To meet the sorrow of that face despised?
Ah! see the love with which thy love is prized:
He bleeds for thee that hast so oft betrayed;
His soul is sorrowful to death for thee,
For thee is borne the crown of pitying thorn,
For thee his people’s cruel taunts are borne,
Carried the heavy cross to Calvary.
He weeps thy sins: weep thou his infinite woe.