1 Oh, why, by furious rage combined,
Were Israel’s sons with heathens joined,
And madly drew the hostile sword
Against their own anointed Lord?
Their blinded counsels but fulfill
The gracious purpose of His will.

2 By them that precious blood was spilt,
Which flowed to wash away our guilt;
And Jesus but resigned His breath
To triumph over sin and death;
Henceforth as Son of God to reign,
The universe His wide domain.

3 Those sacred brows, once torn with thorns,
An everlasting crown adorns;
Those hands, by cruel cords disgraced,
In which the insulting reed was placed,
Now grasp the mighty rod of power—
Oh tremble, nations, and adore!

4 But still, yes still, with tender love,
He prays, He pleads for us above;
Oh seek we then the Savior’s face,
With joy accept His offered grace,
Ere, armed with vengeance from on high,
He comes in dreadful majesty.