This very unique crucifix depicts our Lord suffering on the cross for our salvation. Both the cross and the corpus have been skillfully carved by hand in the heart of Europe (Slovakia). Skilled woodcarvers use traditional methods to produce these striking pieces of art. On this crucifix, the cross itself is also wonderfully hand-carved. Note for instance, the rope which ties the beams together, having been carved into the wood. Real thorns are placed on the brow of Jesus according to the Scriptures. This crucifix shows our Lord's body bent over as He dies for us - bearing the weight of the whole world's sins. 

 

Over Kedron Jesus treadeth

To His passion for us all;

Every human eye be weeping,

Tears of bitter grief let fall!

Round His spirit flock the foes,

Place their shafts and bend their bows,

Aiming at the Saviour solely,

While the world forsakes Him wholly.

 

David once, with heart afflicted,

Crossed the Kedron's narrow strand,

 Clouds of gloom and grief about him

When an exile from his land.

But, O Jesus, blacker now

Bends the cloud above Thy brow,

Hasting to death's dreary portals

 For the shame and sin of mortals.

 

Wilt Thou in Thy pain and ruing

To the Mount of Olives go?

Yet there is no tree for viewing

Where the fruits of peace may grow;

War and battle, bitter pain,

Death and mockery and shame

Every bud shoots forth with sorrow

Jesus now no peace can borrow.

 

Enter now the restful garden

As a peaceful quiet space,

Sorrow soon begins to darken,

Follow Thee in every place!

Come now, Adam, come and see

Enter blest Gethsemane!

See the Lord of heaven shaking

Hellish anguish for us taking.

 

All of Jesus' limbs are quaking

As sins' burden hard doth press

See the God-Man ever shaking

Death doth bring to life distress

Jesus' lifeblood forth doth pour

And His heart aches more and more

Shooting forth with blood-streams narrow

From ten thousand poisoned arrows.

 

See how, anguish-struck, He falleth

Prostrate, and with struggling breath,

Three times on His God He calleth,

 Praying that the bitter death

And the cup of doom may go,

Still He cries, in all His woe:

"Not My will, but Thine, O Father!"

And the angels round Him gather.

 

See how, in that hour of darkness,

 Battling with the evil power,

Agonies untold assail Him,

On His soul the arrows shower;

All the garden flowers are wet

With the drops of bloody sweat,

 From His anguished frame distilling

World's redemption thus fulfilling!

 

O ye heavéns, will ye give Him

Strength of heart, and that right soon?

 To the end He hard has striven

Jesus dies! He dies so soon!

Holy angels, come and see

Strengthen Him for death to see!

How His cheeks are filled with pallor,

 As He meets His death with valor.

 

See the blood so sadly dripping

With each drop of sweat so cold;

Death in every vein is seeping

And His face is dark as coal;

And the grass where Jesus prays

Now a bloody carpet stays

From His precious veins now offering,

See what pains He now is suffering!

 

Daily I am gladly yearning

E'er to go to Kedron's stream

And from earthly pleasure turning

In a penitential theme!

Daily in Gethsemane

 With my spirit I shall see

Jesus' bleeding and His sighing

For my soul is all His dying.

 

Now, away with earthly pleasure!

Let me see my Jesus dear!

In Gethsemane, my Treasure,

I will gather me a tear

From His bloody sweat of pain

Which my righteousness did gain

Earth now gives me only sadness

Till I enter heaven's gladness.

 

But, O flowers, so sadly watered

By this pure and precious dew,

In some blessed hour your blossoms

'Neath the olive-shadows grew!

Eden's garden did not bear

Aught that can with you compare,

For the blood, thus freely given,

Makes my soul the heir of heaven.

 

When as flowers themselves I wither,

When I droop and fade like grass,

When the life-streams through my pulses

Dull and ever duller pass,

When at last they cease to roll,

Then, to cheer my sinking soul,

Grace of Jesus, be Thou given

Source of triumph! pledge of heaven!

 

And now when my heart is breaking,

And my eye no longer sees,

When my tongue no sound is making,

Let my soul a droplet seize

Of Thy precious sweat and blood;

Wash my heart in that dear flood.

 In the hour when I am dying,

On Thy Passion I'm relying