See, what wreath my head adorns,
A King, alas-And crown'd with thorns!
My temples with my blood are dy'd,
A cure for your fick fouls apply'd.
To purchase peace, myself I give,
That, by my death, your fouls may live!
For you this thorny crown I bear,
That crowns of glory, you may wear !
That I your hungry fouls may feed,
For foes, as well as friends, I bleed !
While poignant anguish wrings my heart,
Blafpheming Priefts, increase my smart.
I wade thro' feas of forrows deep,
While Pity's felf forgets to weep.
Now the ftings of wrath i find,
Ah! what horrors feize my mind;
Now's the fummit of my woes,
Now the cup of trembling flows;
Now heav'n, and earth, and hell unite,
To make my forrows infinite!
My God, how dreadful is thy wrath?
It melts my foul, thy frown is death.
Now's all folace from me taken,
O God, my God, why thus forfaken?
Pouring from night's darkeft fhade,
The foes of God, and men, invade,
Inflam'd with rage; but while I bleed,
I crush the ancient ferpent's head.
Now the fun withdraws his light,
Nature robes herself in night,
She fees her God is clad in wrath,
And arms his potent hand with death.
Was there ever pain like this?
Now falvation finish'd is.
Now I leave these scenes of woe,
To confecrate the grave I go.
Think, O men! and grateful prove,
To these tokens of my love;
Now you've crucified my flesh,
Your fins indulg'd, I bleed afresh.