10 Best Famous High Priest Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous High Priest poems. This is a select list of the best famous High Priest poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous High Priest poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of high priest poems.

• All Famous High Priest Poems

 We have all of us read how the Israelites fled 
From Egypt with Pharaoh in eager pursuit of 'em, 
And Pharaoh's fierce troop were all put "in the soup" 
When the waters rolled softly o'er every galoot of 'em. 
The Jews were so glad when old Pharaoh was "had" 
That they sounded their timbrels and capered like mad. 
You see he was hated from Jordan to Cairo -- 
Whence comes the expression "to buck against faro". 
For forty long years, 'midst perils and fears 
In deserts with never a famine to follow by, 
The Israelite horde went roaming abroad 
Like so many sundowners "out on the wallaby". 
When Moses, who led 'em, and taught 'em, and fed 'em, 
Was dying, he murmured, "A rorty old hoss you are: 
I give you command of the whole of the band" -- 
And handed the Government over to Joshua. 

But Moses told 'em before he died, 
"Wherever you are, whatever betide, 
Every year as the time draws near 
By lot or by rote choose you a goat, 
And let the high priest confess on the beast 
The sins of the people the worst and the least, 
Lay your sins on the goat! Sure the plan ought to suit yer. 
Because all your sins are 'his troubles' in future. 
Then lead him away to the wilderness black 
To die with the weight of your sins on his back: 
Of thirst let him perish alone and unshriven, 
For thus shall your sins be absolved and forgiven!" 

'Tis needless to say, though it reeked of barbarity 
This scapegoat arrangement gained great popularity. 
By this means a Jew, whate'er he might do, 
Though he burgled, or murdered, or cheated at loo, 
Or meat on Good Friday (a sin most terrific) ate, 
Could get his discharge, like a bankrupt's certificate; 
Just here let us note -- Did they choose their best goat? 
It's food for conjecture, to judge from the picture 
By Hunt in the Gallery close to our door, a 
Man well might suppose that the scapegoat they chose 
Was a long way from being their choicest Angora. 

In fact I should think he was one of their weediest: 
'Tis a rule that obtains, no matter who reigns, 
When making a sacrifice, offer the seediest; 
Which accounts for a theory known to my hearers 
Who live in the wild by the wattle beguiled, 
That a "stag" makes quite good enough mutton for shearers. 
Be that as it may, as each year passed away, 
a scapegoat was led to the desert and freighted 
With sin (the poor brute must have been overweighted) 
And left there -- to die as his fancy dictated. 

The day it has come, with trumpet and drum. 
With pomp and solemnity fit for the tomb 
They lead the old billy-goat off to his doom: 
On every hand a reverend band, 
Prophets and preachers and elders stand 
And the oldest rabbi, with a tear in his eye, 
Delivers a sermon to all standing by. 
(We haven't his name -- whether Cohen or Harris, he 
No doubt was the "poisonest" kind of Pharisee.) 
The sermon was marked by a deal of humility 
And pointed the fact, with no end of ability. 
That being a Gentile's no mark of gentility, 
And, according to Samuel, would certainly d--n you well. 
Then, shedding his coat, he approaches the goat 
And, while a red fillet he carefully pins on him, 
Confesses the whole of the Israelites' sins on him. 
With this eloquent burst he exhorts the accurst -- 
"Go forth in the desert and perish in woe, 
The sins of the people are whiter than snow!" 
Then signs to his pal "for to let the brute go". 
(That "pal" as I've heard, is an elegant word, 
Derived from the Persian "Palaykhur" or "Pallaghur"), 
As the scapegoat strains and tugs at the reins 
The Rabbi yells rapidly, "Let her go, Gallagher!" 

The animal, freed from all restraint 
Lowered his head, made a kind of feint, 
And charged straight at that elderly saint. 
So fierce his attack and so very severe, it 
Quite floored the Rabbi, who, ere he could fly, 
Was rammed on the -- no, not the back -- but just near it. 
The scapegoat he snorted, and wildly cavorted, 
A light-hearted antelope "out on the ramp", 
Then stopped, looked around, got the "lay of the ground", 
And made a beeline back again to the camp. 
The elderly priest, as he noticed the beast 
So gallantly making his way to the east, 
Says he, "From the tents may I never more roam again 
If that there old billy-goat ain't going home again. 
He's hurrying, too! This never will do. 
Can't somebody stop him? I'm all of a stew. 
After all our confessions, so openly granted, 
He's taking our sins back to where they're not wanted. 
We've come all this distance salvation to win agog, 
If he takes home our sins, it'll burst up the Synagogue!" 

He turned to an Acolyte who was making his bacca light, 
A fleet-footed youth who could run like a crack o' light. 
"Run, Abraham, run! Hunt him over the plain, 
And drive back the brute to the desert again. 
The Sphinx is a-watching, the Pyramids will frown on you, 
From those granite tops forty cent'ries look down on you -- 
Run, Abraham, run! I'll bet half-a-crown on you." 
So Abraham ran, like a man did he go for him, 
But the goat made it clear each time he drew near 
That he had what the racing men call "too much toe" for him. 

The crowd with great eagerness studied the race -- 
"Great Scott! isn't Abraham forcing the pace -- 
And don't the goat spiel? It is hard to keep sight on him, 
The sins of the Israelites ride mighty light on him. 
The scapegoat is leading a furlong or more, 
And Abraham's tiring -- I'll lay six to four! 
He rolls in his stride; he's done, there's no question!" 
But here the old Rabbi brought up a suggestion. 
('Twas strange that in racing he showed so much cunning), 
"It's a hard race," said he, "and I think it would be 
A good thing for someone to take up the running." 
As soon said as done, they started to run -- 
The priests and the deacons, strong runners and weak 'uns 
All reckoned ere long to come up with the brute, 
And so the whole boiling set off in pursuit. 
And then it came out, as the rabble and rout 
Streamed over the desert with many a shout -- 
The Rabbi so elderly, grave, and patrician, 
Had been in his youth a bold metallician, 
And offered, in gasps, as they merrily spieled, 
"Any price Abraham! Evens the field!" 
Alas! the whole clan, they raced and they ran, 
And Abraham proved him an "even time" man, 
But the goat -- now a speck they could scarce keep their eyes on -- 
Stretched out in his stride in a style most surprisin' 
And vanished ere long o'er the distant horizon. 

Away in the camp the bill-sticker's tramp 
Is heard as he wanders with paste, brush, and notices, 
And paling and wall he plasters them all, 
"I wonder how's things gettin' on with the goat," he says, 
The pulls out his bills, "Use Solomon's Pills" 
"Great Stoning of Christians! To all devout Jews! you all 
Must each bring a stone -- Great sport will be shown; 
Enormous Attractions! And prices as usual! 
Roll up to the Hall!! Wives, children and all, 
For naught the most delicate feelings to hurt is meant!!" 
Here his eyes opened wide, for close by his side 
Was the scapegoat: And eating his latest advertisement! 
One shriek from him burst -- "You creature accurst!" 
And he ran from the spot like one fearing the worst. 
His language was chaste, as he fled in his haste, 
But the goat stayed behind him -- and "scoffed up" the paste. 

With downcast head, and sorrowful tread, 
The people came back from the desert in dread. 
"The goat -- was he back there? Had anyone heard of him?" 
In very short order they got plenty word of him. 
In fact as they wandered by street, lane and hall, 
"The trail of the serpent was over them all." 
A poor little child knocked out stiff in the gutter 
Proclaimed that the scapegoat was bred for a "butter". 
The bill-sticker's pail told a sorrowful tale, 
The scapegoat had licked it as dry as a nail; 
He raced through their houses, and frightened their spouses, 
But his latest achievement most anger arouses, 
For while they were searching, and scratching their craniums, 
One little Ben Ourbed, who looked in the flow'r-bed, 
Discovered him eating the Rabbi's geraniums. 


Moral 
The moral is patent to all the beholders -- 
Don't shift your own sins on to other folks' shoulders; 
Be kind to dumb creatures and never abuse them, 
Nor curse them nor kick them, nor spitefully use them: 
Take their lives if needs must -- when it comes to the worst, 
But don't let them perish of hunger or thirst. 
Remember, no matter how far you may roam 
That dogs, goats, and chickens, it's simply the dickens, 
Their talent stupendous for "getting back home". 
Your sins, without doubt, will aye find you out, 
And so will a scapegoat, he's bound to achieve it, 
But, die in the wilderness! Don't you believe it!

 Watchman, what of the night? - 
Storm and thunder and rain, 
Lights that waver and wane,
Leaving the watchfires unlit. 
Only the balefires are bright, 
And the flash of the lamps now and then 
From a palace where spoilers sit, 
Trampling the children of men.

Prophet, what of the night? - 
I stand by the verge of the sea, 
Banished, uncomforted, free, 
Hearing the noise of the waves 
And sudden flashes that smite 
Some man's tyrannous head, 
Thundering, heard among graves 
That hide the hosts of his dead.

Mourners, what of the night? - 
All night through without sleep 
We weep, and we weep, and we weep. 
Who shall give us our sons ? 
Beaks of raven and kite,
Mouths of wolf and of hound, 
Give us them back whom the guns 
Shot for you dead on the ground.

Dead men, what of the night? - 
Cannon and scaffold and sword,
Horror of gibbet and cord, 
Mowed us as sheaves for the grave, 
Mowed us down for the right. 
We do not grudge or repent. 
Freely to freedom we gave
Pledges, till life should be spent.

Statesman, what of the night? - 
The night will last me my time. 
The gold on a crown or a crime
Looks well enough yet by the lamps. 
Have we not fingers to write, 
Lips to swear at a need? 
Then, when danger decamps, 
Bury the word with the deed.

Warrior, what of the night? - 
Whether it be not or be 
Night, is as one thing to me.
I for one, at the least, 
Ask not of dews if they blight, 
Ask not of flames if they slay,
Ask not of prince or of priest
How long ere we put them away.

Master, what of the night? - 
Child, night is not at all 
Anywhere, fallen or to fall, 
Save in our star-stricken eyes.
Forth of our eyes it takes flight,
Look we but once nor before 
Nor behind us, but straight on the skies; 
Night is not then any more.

Exile, what of the night? - 
The tides and the hours run out, 
The seasons of death and of doubt, 
The night-watches bitter and sore.
In the quicksands leftward and right 
My feet sink down under me; 
But I know the scents of the shore 
And the broad blown breaths of the sea.

Captives, what of the night? - 
It rains outside overhead 
Always, a rain that is red, 
And our faces are soiled with the rain. 
Here in the seasons' despite
Day-time and night-time are one,
Till the curse of the kings and the chain 
Break, and their toils be undone.

Christian, what of the night? - 
I cannot tell; I am blind. 
I halt and hearken behind 
If haply the hours will go back 
And return to the dear dead light, 
To the watchfires and stars that of old
Shone where the sky now is black,
Glowed where the earth now is cold.

High priest, what of the night? - 
The night is horrible here 
With haggard faces and fear, 
Blood, and the burning of fire. 
Mine eyes are emptied of sight, 
Mine hands are full of the dust, 
If the God of my faith be a liar, 
Who is it that I shall trust?

Princes, what of the night? - 
Night with pestilent breath 
Feeds us, children of death, 
Clothes us close with her gloom. 
Rapine and famine and fright
Crouch at our feet and are fed. 
Earth where we pass is a tomb, 
Life where we triumph is dead.

Martyrs, what of the night? - 
Nay, is it night with you yet? 
We, for our part, we forget 
What night was, if it were. 
The loud red mouths of the fight 
Are silent and shut where we are. 
In our eyes the tempestuous air 
Shines as the face of a star.

England, what of the night? - 
Night is for slumber and sleep, 
Warm, no season to weep. 
Let me alone till the day. 
Sleep would I still if I might, 
Who have slept for two hundred years. 
Once I had honour, they say; 
But slumber is sweeter than tears.

France, what of the night? - 
Night is the prostitute's noon, 
Kissed and drugged till she swoon, 
Spat upon, trod upon, whored. 
With bloodred rose-garlands dight, 
Round me reels in the dance 
Death, my saviour, my lord,
Crowned; there is no more France.

Italy, what of the night? - 
Ah, child, child, it is long! 
Moonbeam and starbeam and song 
Leave it dumb now and dark. 
Yet I perceive on the height 
Eastward, not now very far, 
A song too loud for the lark, 
A light too strong for a star.

Germany, what of the night ? - 
Long has it lulled me with dreams;
Now at midwatch, as it seems, 
Light is brought back to mine eyes, 
And the mastery of old and the might 
Lives in the joints of mine hands, 
Steadies my limbs as they rise, 
Strengthens my foot as it stands.

Europe, what of the night ? - 
Ask of heaven, and the sea, 
And my babes on the bosom of me, 
Nations of mine, but ungrown. 
There is one who shall surely requite 
All that endure or that err: 
She can answer alone: 
Ask not of me, but of her.

Liberty, what of the night ? - 
I feel not the red rains fall, 
Hear not the tempest at all, 
Nor thunder in heaven any more. 
All the distance is white 
With the soundless feet of the sun. 
Night, with the woes that it wore, 
Night is over and done.

 1903

After Boer War


Duly with knees that feign to quake--
 Bent head and shaded brow,--
Yet once again, for my father's sake,
 In Rimmon's House I bow.

The curtains part, the trumpet blares,
 And the eunuchs howl aloud;
And the gilt, swag-bellied idol glares
 Insolent over the crowd.

"This is Rimmon, Lord of the Earth--
 "Fear Him and bow the knee!"
And I watch my comrades hide their mirth
 That rode to the wars with me.

For we remember the sun and the sand
 And the rocks whereon we trod,
Ere we came to a scorched and a scornful land
 That did not know our God;

As we remember the sacrifice,
 Dead men an hundred laid--
Slain while they served His mysteries,
 And that He would not aid--

Not though we gashed ourselves and wept,
 For the high-priest bade us wait;
Saying He went on a journey or slept,
 Or was drunk or had taken a mate.

(Praise ye Rimmon, King of Kings,
 Who ruleth Earth and Sky!
And again I bow as the censer swings
 And the God Enthroned goes by.)

Ay, we remember His sacred ark
 And the virtuous men that knelt
To the dark and the hush behind the dark
 Wherein we dreamed He dwelt;

Until we entered to hale Him out
 And found no more than an old
Uncleanly image girded about
 The loins with scarlet and gold.

Him we o'erset with the butts of our spears--
 Him and his vast designs--
To be scorn of our muleteers
 And the jest of our halted line.

By the picket-pins that the dogs defile,
 In the dung and the dust He lay,
Till the priests ran and chattered awhile
 And we wiped Him and took Him away.

Hushing the matter before it was known,
 They returned to our fathers afar,
And hastily set Him afresh on His throne
 Because he had won us the war.

Wherefore with knees that feign to quake--
 Bent head and shaded brow--
To this dog, for my father's sake,
 In the Rimmon's House I bow!

 NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,
Beloved England, doth the earth appear
Quite good enough for men to overbear
The will of God in, with rebellious wills !
We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils
Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear
Strong stars without significance insphere
Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills
Heap up against this good and lift a cry
Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast,
As if ourselves were better certainly
Than what we come to. Maker and High Priest,
I ask thee not my joys to multiply,--
Only to make me worthier of the least.

 O Sacred Providence, who from end to end
Strongly and sweetly movest! shall I write,
And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend
To hold my quill? shall they not do thee right?

Of all the creatures both in sea and land
Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes,
And put the penne alone into his hand, 
And made him Secretarie of thy praise.

Beasts fain would sing; birds dittie to their notes;
Trees would be tuning on their native lute
To thy renown: but all their hands and throats
Are brought to Man, while they are lame and mute.

Man is the worlds high Priest: he doth present
The sacrifice for all; while they below
Unto the service mutter an assent,
Such as springs use that fall, and windes that blow.

He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain,
Doth not refrain unto himself alone,
But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain,
And doth commit a world of sinne in one.

The beasts say, Eat me: but, if beasts must teach,
The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise.
The trees say, Pull me: but the hand you stretch,
Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise.

Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present
For me and all my fellows praise to thee:
And just it is that I should pay the rent,
Because the benefit accrues to me.

We all acknowledge both thy power and love
To be exact, transcendent, and divine;
Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move,
While all things have their will, yet none but thine.

For either thy command, or thy permission
Lay hands on all: they are thy right and left.
The first puts on with speed and expedition;
The other curbs sinnes stealing pace and theft.

Nothing escapes them both; all must appeare,
And be dispos'd, and dress'd, and tun'd by thee,
Who sweetly temper'st all. If we could heare
Thy skill and art, what musick would it be!

Thou art in small things great, not small in any:
Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall.
Thou art in all things one, in each thing many:
For thou art infinite in one and all.

Tempests are calm to thee; they know thy hand,
And hold it fast, as children do their fathers,
Which crie and follow. Thou hast made poore sand
Check the proud sea, ev'n when it swells and gathers.

Thy cupboard serves the world: the meat is set,
Where all may reach: no beast but knows his feed.
Birds teach us hawking; fishes have their net:
The great prey on the lesse, they on some weed.

Nothing ingendred doth prevent his meat:
Flies have their table spread, ere they appeare.
Some creatures have in winter what to eat;
Others do sleep, and envie not their cheer.

How finely dost thou times and seasons spin.
And make a twist checker'd with night and day!
Which as it lengthens windes, and windes us in,
As bouls go on, but turning all the way.

Each creature hath a wisdome for his good.
The pigeons feed their tender off-spring, crying,
When they are callow; but withdraw their food
When they are fledge, that need may teach them flying.

Bees work for man; and yet they never bruise
Their masters flower, but leave it, having done,
As fair as ever, and as fit to use;
So both the flower doth stay, and hony run.

Sheep eat the grasse, and dung the ground for more:
Trees after bearing drop their leaves for soil:
Springs vent their streams, and by expense get store:
Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boil.

Who hath the vertue to expresse the rare
And curious vertues both of herbs and stones?
Is there a herb for that? O that thy care
Would show a root, that gives expressions!

And if an herb hath power, what have the starres?
A rose, besides his beautie, is a cure.
Doubtlesse our plagues and plentie, peace and warres
Are there much surer then our art is sure.

Thou hast hid metals: man may take them thence;
But at his peril: when he digs the place,
He makes a grave; as if the thing had sense,
And threatned man, that he should fill the space.

Ev'n poysons praise thee. Should a thing be lost?
Should creatures want for want of heed their due?
Since where are poysons, antidots are most:
The help stands close, and keeps the fear in view.

The sea, which seems to stop the traveller,
Is by a ship the speedier passage made.
The windes, who think they rule the mariner,
Are rul'd by him, and taught to serve his trade.

And as thy house is full, so I adore
Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods.
The hills and health abound; the vales with store;
The South with marble; North with furres & woods.

Hard things are glorious; easie things good cheap.
The common all men have; that which is rare,
Men therefore seek to have, and care to keep.
The healthy frosts with summer-fruits compare.

Light without winde is glasse: warm without weight
Is wooll and furres: cool without closenesse, shade:
Speed without pains, a horse: tall without height,
A servile hawk: low without losse, a spade.

All countreys have enough to serve their need:
If they seek fine things, thou dost make them run
For their offence; and then dost turn their speed
To be commerce and trade from sunne to sunne.

Nothing wears clothes, but Man; nothing doth need
But he to wear them. Nothing useth fire,
But Man alone, to show his heav'nly breed:
And onely he hath fuell in desire.

When th'earth was dry, thou mad'st a sea of wet:
When that lay gather'd, thou didst broach the mountains:
When yet some places could no moisture get,
The windes grew gard'ners, and the clouds good fountains.

Rain, do not hurt my flowers; but gently spend
Your hony drops: presse not to smell them here:
When they are ripe, their odour will ascend,
And at your lodging with their thanks appeare.

How harsh are thorns to pears! and yet they make
A better hedge, and need lesse reparation.
How smooth are silks compared with a stake,
Or with a stone! yet make no good foundation.

Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man,
Sometimes unite. The Indian nut alone
Is clothing, meat and trencher, drink and kan,
Boat, cable, sail and needle, all in one.

Most herbs that grow in brooks, are hot and dry.
Cold fruits warm kernells help against the winde.
The lemmons juice and rinde cure mutually.
The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth binde.

Thy creatures leap not, but expresse a feast,
Where all the guests sit close, and nothing wants.
Frogs marry fish and flesh; bats, bird and beast;
Sponges, non-sense and sense; mines, th'earth & plants.

To show thou art not bound, as if thy lot
Were worse then ours; sometimes thou shiftest hands.
Most things move th'under-jaw; the Crocodile not.
Most things sleep lying; th’ Elephant leans or stands.

But who hath praise enough? nay who hath any?
None can expresse thy works, but he that knows them:
And none can know thy works, which are so many,
And so complete, but onely he that owes them.

All things that are, though they have sev'rall wayes,
Yet in their being joyn with one advise
To honour thee: and so I give thee praise
In all my other hymnes, but in this twice.

Each thing that is, although in use and name 
It go for one, hath many wayes in store
To honour thee; and so each hymne thy fame
Extolleth many wayes, yet this one more.

 1 Awake, glad heart! get up and sing!
2 It is the birth-day of thy King.
3 Awake! awake!
4 The Sun doth shake
5 Light from his locks, and all the way
6 Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.

7 Awake, awake! hark how th' wood rings;
8 Winds whisper, and the busy springs
9 A concert make;
10 Awake! awake!
11 Man is their high-priest, and should rise
12 To offer up the sacrifice.

13 I would I were some bird, or star,
14 Flutt'ring in woods, or lifted far
15 Above this inn
16 And road of sin!
17 Then either star or bird should be
18 Shining or singing still to thee.

19 I would I had in my best part
20 Fit rooms for thee! or that my heart
21 Were so clean as
22 Thy manger was!
23 But I am all filth, and obscene;
24 Yet, if thou wilt, thou canst make clean.

25 Sweet Jesu! will then. Let no more
26 This leper haunt and soil thy door!
27 Cure him, ease him,
28 O release him!
29 And let once more, by mystic birth,
30 The Lord of life be born in earth.

 Christ our High Priest and King.

Rev. 1:5-7. 

Now to the Lord, that makes us know
The wonders of his dying love,
Be humble honors paid below,
And strains of nobler praise above.

'Twas he that cleansed our foulest sins,
And washed us in his richest blood;
'Tis he that makes us priests and kings,
And brings us rebels near to God.

To Jesus, our atoning Priest,
To Jesus, our superior King,
Be everlasting power confessed,
And every tongue his glory sing.

Behold, on flying clouds he comes,
And every eye shall see him move;
Though with our sins we pierced him once,
Then he displays his pard'ning love.

The unbelieving world shall wail,
While we rejoice to see the day:
Come, Lord; nor let thy promise fail,
Nor let thy chariots long delay.

 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.

 The offices of Christ. From several scriptures.

Join all the names of love and power
That ever men or angels bore,
All are too mean to speak his worth,
Or set lmmannel's glory forth.

But O what condescending ways
He takes to teach his heav'nly grace
My eyes with joy and wonder see
What forms of love he bears for me.

[The Angel of the cov'nant stands
With his commission in his hands,
Sent from his Father's milder throne,
To make the great salvation known.]

[Great Prophet! let me bless thy name;
By thee the joyful tidings came
Of wrath appeased, of sins forgiv'n,
Of hell subdued, and peace with heav'n.]

[My bright Example and my Guide,
I would be walking near thy side;
O let me never run astray,
Nor follow the forbidden way!]

[I love my Shepherd, he shall keep
My wand'ring soul among his sheep;
He feeds his flock, he calls their names,
And in his bosom bears the lambs.]

[My Surety undertakes my cause,
Answering his Father's broken laws:
Behold my soul at freedom set,
My Surety paid the dreadful debt.]

[Jesus, my great High Priest, has died;
I seek no sacrifice beside;
His blood did once for all atone,
And now it pleads before the throne.]

[My Advocate appears on high,
The Father lays his thunder by;
Not all that earth or hell can say
Shall turn my Father's heart away.]

[My Lord, my Conqueror, and my King!
Thy sceptre and thy sword I sing;
Thine is the vict'ry, and I sit
A joyful subject at thy feet.]

[Aspire, my soul, to glorious deeds,
The Captain of salvation leads;
March on, nor fear to win the day,
Though death and hell obstruct the way.]

[Should death, and hell, and powers unknown,
Put all their forms of mischief on,
I shall be safe; for Christ displays
Salvation in more sovereign ways.]

 The offices of Christ. From several scriptures.

Join all the glorious names
Of wisdom, love, and power,
That ever mortals knew,
That angels ever bore:
All are too mean to speak his worth,
Too mean to set my Savior forth.

But O what gentle terms,
What condescending ways,
Doth our Redeemer use
To teach his heav'nly grace!
Mine eyes with joy and wonder see
What forms of love he bears for me.

[Arrayed in mortal flesh,
He like an angel stands,
And holds the promises
And pardons in his hands;
Commissioned from his Father's throne
To make his grace to mortals known.]

[Great Prophet of my God,
My tongue would bless thy name;
By thee the joyful news
Of our salvation came:
The joyful news of sins forgiv'n,
Of hell subdued, and peace with heav'n.]

[Be thou my Counsellor,
My Pattern, and my Guide;
And through this desert land
Still keep me near thy side:
O let my feet ne'er run astray,
Nor rove, nor seek the crooked way.]

[I love my Shepherd's voice,
His watchful eyes shall keep
My wand'ring soul among
The thousands of his sheep:
He feeds his flock, he calls their names,
His bosom bears the tender lambs.]

[To this dear Surety's hand
Will I commit my cause;
He answers and fulfils
His Father's broken laws:
Behold my soul at freedom set!
My Surety paid the dreadful debt.]

[Jesus, my great High Priest,
Offered his blood, and died;
My guilty conscience seeks
No sacrifice beside:
His powerful blood did once atone,
And now it pleads before the throne.]

[My Advocate appears
For my defence on high;
The Father bows his ears,
And lays his thunder by:
Not all that hell or sin can say
Shall turn his heart, his love away.]

[My dear Almighty Lord,
My Conqueror and my King!
Thy sceptre and thy sword,
Thy reigning grace I sing:
Thine is the power; behold, I sit
In willing bonds before thy feet.]

[Now let my soul arise,
And tread the tempter down;
My Captain leads me forth
To conquest and a crown:
A feeble saint shall win the day,
Though death and hell obstruct the way.]

Should all the hosts of death,
And powers of hell unknown,
Put their most dreadful forms
Of rage and mischief on,
I shall be safe, for Christ displays
Superior power, and guardian grace.