Poem by Isaac Watts

Hymn 125 (With joy we meditate the grace)

Christ's compassion to the weak and tempted.

Heb. 4:15,16; 5:7; Matt. 12:20.

With joy we meditate the grace
Of our High Priest above;
His heart is made of tenderness,
His bowels melt with love.

Touched with a sympathy within,
He knows our feeble frame;
He knows what sore temptations mean,
For he has felt the same.

But spotless, innocent, and pure,
The great Redeemer stood,
While Satan's fiery darts he bore,
And did resist to blood.

He in the days of feeble flesh
Poured out his cries and tears,
And in his measure feels afresh
What every member bears.

[He'll never quench the smoking flax,
But raise it to a flame;
The bruised reed he never breaks,
Nor scorns the meanest name.]

Then let our humble faith address
His mercy and his power;
We shall obtain deliv'ring grace
In the distressing hour. 

1. Psalm 46. Part 1 (God is the refuge of his saints)
2. Hymn 99 (Let the whole race of creatures lie)
3. Psalm 150 (In God's own house pronounce his praise)
4. Psalm 136 (Give thanks to God most high)
5. Psalm 121 (To heav'n I lift my waiting eyes)

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