Isaac Watts · 503 of 724

Hymn 145

Jesus, in thee our eyes behold A thousand glories more, Than the rich gems and polished gold The sons of Aaron wore.

They first their own burnt-offerings brought, To purge themselves from sin; Thy life was pure without a spot, And all thy nature clean.

[Fresh blood as constant as the day Was on their altar spilt; But thy one offering takes away For ever all our guilt.]

[Their priesthood ran through several hands, For mortal was their race; Thy never-changing office stands Eternal as thy days.]

[Once in the circuit of a year, With blood, but not his own, Aaron within the veil appears Before the golden throne:

But Christ, by his own powerful blood, Ascends above the skies, And in the presence of our God Shows his own sacrifice.]

Jesus, the King of glory, reigns On Zion's heav'nly hill; Looks like a lamb that has been slain, And wears his priesthood still.

He ever lives to intercede Before his Father's face: Give him, my soul, thy cause to plead, Nor doubt the Father's grace.