Isaac Watts

Hymn 16-

 Next Poem          

The agonies of Christ.

Now let our pains be all forgot,
Our hearts no more repine;
Our suff'rings are not worth a thought,
When, Lord, compared with thine.

In lively figures here we see
The bleeding Prince of love;
Each of us hope, he died for me,
And then our griefs remove.

[Our humble faith here takes her rise,
While sitting round his board;
And back to Calvary she flies,
To view her groaning Lord.

His soul, what agonies it felt
When his own God withdrew;
And the large load of all our guilt
Lay heavy on him too!

But the Divinity within
Supported him to bear;
Dying, he conquered hell and sin,
And made his triumph there.]

Grace, wisdom, justice joined and wrought
The wonders of that day;
No mortal tongue, nor mortal thought,
Can equal thanks repay.

Our hymns should sound like those above,
Could we our voices raise;
Yet, Lord, our hearts shall all be love,
And all our lives be praise.

Next Poem 

 Back to
Isaac Watts