Immanuel, Sunk with Dreadful Woe

Immanuel

sunk with dread­ful woe

Unfelt

un­known to all be­low—

Except the Son of God—

In ago­niz­ing pangs of soul

Drinks deep from worm­wood’s bit­ter­est bowl

And sweats great drops of blood.

See His dis­ci­ples slum­ber­ing round

Nor pi­ty­ing friend on earth is found!

He treads the press alone:

In vain to Heav’n He turns His eyes

The curse awaits Him from the skies—

His death it must atone.

O Fa­ther

hear! this cup re­move!

Save Thou the dar­ling of Thy love

(The pros­trate vic­tim cries)

From ov­er­whelm­ing fear and dread!

Tho’ He must min­gle with the dead—

His peo­ple’s sac­ri­fice.

His ear­nest pray­ers

His deep­en­ing groans

Were heard be­fore an­gel­ic thrones;

Amazement wrapped the sky;

Go strength­en Christ! the Fa­ther said:

Th’as­ton­ished ser­aph bowed his head

And left the realms on high.

Made strong in strength

re­newed from Heav’n

Jesus re­ceives the cup as giv’n

And

per­fect­ly re­signed

He drinks the worm­wood mixed with gall

Sustains the curse—re­moves it all—

Nor leaves a dreg be­hind.