1 Now let our lips with holy fear
And mournful pleasure sing
The sufferings of our great High-Priest,
The sorrows of our King.
2 He sinks in floods of deep distress:
How high the waters rise!
While to his heavenly Father's ear
He sends perpetual cries.
3 |Hear me, O Lord, and save thy Son,
|Nor hide thy shining face;
|Why should thy favorite look like one
|Forsaken of thy grace?
4 |With rage they persecute the man
|That groans beneath thy wound,
|While for a sacrifice I pour
|My life upon the ground.
5 |They tread my honour to the dust,
|And laugh when I complain
|Their sharp insulting slanders add
|Fresh anguish to my pain.
6 |All my reproach is known to thee,
|The scandal and the shame;
|Reproach has broke my bleeding heart,
|And lies defil'd my Name.
7 |I look'd for pity, but in vain;
|My kindred are my grief!
|I ask my friends for comfort round,
|But meet with no relief.
8 |With vinegar they mock my thirst;
|They give me gall for food;
|And sporting with my dying groans,
|They triumph in my blood.
9 |Shine into my distressed soul,
|Let thy compassion save;
|And tho' my flesh sink down to death,
|Redeem it from the grave.
10 |I shall arise to praise thy Name,
|Shall reign in worlds unknown;
|And thy salvation, O my God,
|Shall seat me on thy throne.|