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.