By His Wounds We Are Healed

It was the Third Hour, around 9 in the morning
The Sun was now blazing in the sky to the east
An innocent man reached the place of His execution
Tapered iron spikes pierced His hands and His feet

They have pierced my hands and my feet
They have numbered all my bones

Surely He took up our pain
And bore our suffering
We considered Him punished by God
Stricken by Him, and afflicted
But He was pierced for our transgressions
He was crushed for our iniquities
The punishment that brought us peace was on Him
And by His wounds we are healed!

It was the Sixth Hour, around noon on that day
The sky now darkened, for three hours it had stayed
He pardons the Good Thief, gives Mary in the care of John
I thirst, He cried, but only bitterness He found

They have pierced my hands and my feet
They have numbered all my bones

But He was pierced for our transgressions
He was crushed for our iniquities
The punishment that brought us peace was on Him
And by His wounds we are healed!
We all, like sheep, have gone astray
Each of us has turned to our own way
And the Lord has lain upon Him
The iniquity of us all
Of us all!
Of us all!
Of us all!