1 With Joy we meditate the Grace
of our High-Priest above;
His Heart is made of Tenderness,
his Bowels melt with Love.
2 Touch'd with a Sympathy within,
he knows our feeble Frame;
He knows what sore Temptations mean
for he has felt the same.
3 But spotless, innocent and pure,
the great Redeemer stood,
While Satan's fiery Darts he bore,
and did resist to Blood.
4 He in the Days of feeble Flesh
pour'd out his Cries and Tears,
And in his Measure feels afresh
what every Member bears.
5 He'll never quench the smoking Flax,
but raise it to a Flame;
The bruised Reed he never breaks,
nor scorns the meanest Name.
6 Then let our humble Faith address
His Mercy and his Pow'r;
We shall obtain deliv'ring Grace
in the distressing Hour.
|First Line:||With Joy we meditate the Grace|