Great high priest, we view thee stooping with our names upon thy breast, In the garden, groaning, drooping. To the ground with horrors pressed. Weeping angels stand confounded to behold their maker thus. And can we remain unwounded when we know it was all for us? On the cross, thy body broken cancels every penal tie. Tempted souls produce this token. All demands to satisfy. All is finished. Do not doubt it, but believe your dying Lord. Never reason more about it. Only take him at his word. Lord, we fain would trust thee solely. 'Twas for us thy blood was spilt. Bruised bridegroom, take us holy. Take and make us what thou wilt. Thou has to borne the bitter sentence, passed on man's devoted race. True belief and true repentance are thy gifts, thou God of grace. Joseph Hart.