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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 hath felt the same.
3 But spotless, innocent and pure
the great Redeemer stood,
While Stan'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 smoaking 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.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | With Joy we meditate the Grace |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1760 |
| Scripture: | ; ; |
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