Jesus, in thee our eyes behold
A thousand glories more,
Than the rich gems and polished gold
The sons of Aaron wore.
They first their own burnt-offerings brought,
To purge themselves from sin;
Thy life was pure without a spot,
And all thy nature clean.
[Fresh blood as constant as the day
Was on their altar spilt;
But thy one offering takes away
For ever all our guilt.]
[Their priesthood ran through several hands,
For mortal was their race;
Thy never-changing office stands
Eternal as thy days.]
[Once in the circuit of a year,
With blood, but not his own,
Aaron within the veil appears
Before the golden throne:
But Christ, by his own powerful blood,
Ascends above the skies,
And in the presence of our God
Shows his own sacrifice.]
Jesus, the King of glory, reigns
On Zion's heav'nly hill;
Looks like a lamb that has been slain,
And wears his priesthood still.
He ever lives to intercede
Before his Father's face:
Give him, my soul, thy cause to plead,
Nor doubt the Father's grace.