Now Let Our Lips with Holy Fear

Now let our lips with ho­ly fear

And mourn­ful plea­sure sing

The suf­fer­ings 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 heav­en­ly Fa­ther’s ear

He sends per­pe­tu­al cries.

“Hear me

O Lord

and save Thy Son

Nor hide Thy shin­ing face;

Why should Thy fa­vo­rite 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 dis­tress­èd soul

Let Thy com­pas­sion 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.