1. With joy we meditate the grace
    Of our High Priest above;
His heart is made of tenderness,
    And overflows with love.

2. All touched with 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
    Poured out his cries and tears;
And, though exalted, feels afresh
    What ev’ry 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 pow’r:
We shall obtain deliv’ring grace
    In the distressing hour.

Text: Isaac Watts (1674-1748)
Tune: W. Jones (1726-1800)


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Christ, our High Priest

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