Now let our lips with holy fear

And mournful pleasure sing

The suff'rings of our great High Priest,

The sorrows of our King.

He sinks in floods of deep distress;

How high the waters rise!

While to his heav'nly Father's ear

He sends perpetual cries.

"Hear me, O Lord, and save thy Son,

Nor hide thy shining face;

Why should thy fav'rite look like one

Forsaken of thy grace?

"With rage they persecute the man

That groans beneath thy wound,

While for a sacrifice I pour

My life upon the ground.

"They tread my honor to the dust,

And laugh when I complain;

Their sharp insulting slanders add

Fresh anguish to my pain.

"All my reproach is known to thee,

The scandal and the shame;

Reproach has broke my bleeding heart,

And lies defiled my name.

"I looked for pity, but in vain;

My kindred are my grief:

I ask my friends for comfort round,

But meet with no relief.

"With vinegar they mock my thirst,

They give me gall for food;

And sporting with my dying groans,

They triumph in my blood.

"Shine into my distressed soul,

Let thy compassions save;

And though my flesh sink down to death,

Redeem it from the grave.

"I shall arise to praise thy name,

Shall reign in worlds unknown;

And thy salvation, O my God,

Shall seat me on thy throne."