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.