Methinks I see my Saviour dear on the accursed Tree; Methinks I see his bleeding Wounds, Which he receiv'd for me. Infinite Grief, amazing Woe, Behold our bleeding Lord; Hell and the Jews conspir'd his Death, and us'd the Roman sword. 'Twere you, my Sins, my cruel Sins, His chief Tormenters were; Each of my Crimes became a Nail, and Unbelief the Spear. 'Twere you that pull'd the Vengeance down Upon his guiltless Head; Break, break, my Heart, Oh burst mine Eyes, And let my sorrow bleed.