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 power,
We shall obtain delivering grace
In the distressing hour.