1 The Saviour comes! no outward pomp
Bespeaks His presence nigh;
No earthly beauty shines in Him
To draw the carnal eye.
2 Rejected and despised of men,
Behold a Man of woe!
And grief His close companion still
Through all His life below!
3 Yet all the griefs He felt were ours,
Ours were the woes He bore:
Pangs, not His own, His spotless soul,
With bitter anguish tore.
4 We held Him as condemned of heaven,
An outcast from His God;
While for our sins He groaned, He bled,
Beneath His Father's rod.
5 His sacred Blood hath washed our souls
From sin's polluting stain;
His stripes have healed us, and His Death
Revived our souls again.
6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
In ruin’s fatal road:
On Him were our transgressions laid;
He bore the mighty load.
7 He died to bear the guilt of men,
That sin might be forgiven:
He lives to bless them and defend,
And plead their cause in heaven.
|First Line:||The Saviour comes! no outward pomp|
|Author:||William Robertson, d. 1743|
|Topic:||Passion Week; Lent, Sixth Sunday|
|Notes:||Alternate tune: #395|
|Key:||e minor or modal|
|Notes:||Source from index: Ravenscroft's Psalter, 1621|