1 When the chosen tribes debated
'Gainst their God, as hardly treated,
And complain'd their hopes were spilt;
God, for murm'ring to requite them,
Fiery serpents sent to bite them.
Lively type of deadly guilt.

2 Stung by these they soon repented:
And their God as soon relented.
Moses pray'd: He answer gave.
"Serpents were the beasts that strike them,
"Make of brass, a serpent like them,
"That’s the way I chuse to save."

3 Vain was bandage, oil or plaster:
Rankling venom kill'd the faster;
Till the serpent Moses took,
Rear'd it high, that all might view it,
Bid the bitten look up to it:
Life attended ev'ry look.

4 Jesus thus, for sinners smitten,
Wounded, bruised, serpent-bitten,
To his cross directs their faith.
Why should I then poison cherish?
Why despair of care, and perish?
Look, my soul, tho' stung to death.

5 Thine’s (alas!) a lost condition.
Works cannot work thee remission:
Nor thy goodness do thee good.
Death’s within thee, all about thee;
But the remedy‘s without thee;
See it in thy Saviour’s blood.

6 See the Lord of glory dying!
See him gasping! Hear him crying!
See his burden'd bosom heave!
Look, ye sinners, ye that hung him;
Look, how deep your sins have stung him;
Dying sinners, look, and live.