Thou Christ of God my sickness bore

1. Thou Christ of God my sickness bore, Dying there on a tree, The cruel scourging made Thee sore, Oh, what great agony! In mercy died, Thou suff’ring God, Thou sought not gain nor man’s applaud, Thy loss our gain and our reward, All for me sinner vile.

Chorus : When I think of all Thy suff’ring. Then my heart is full of praise, As I watch for Thy appearing, Thrilled with rapture, run the race.