I. Watts (319/413) -- Hymns and Spiritual Songs

I. Watts WITH joy we meditate the grace Of our High Priest above; His heart is made of tenderness, How bowels melt with love. 2 Touched with a sympathy within, He knows our feeble frame; He knows what sore temptations mean, For He hath felt the same. 3 He in the days of feeble flesh, Poured out strong cries and tears, And in His measure feels afresh What every member bears. 4 He’ll never quench the smoking flax, But raise it to a flame: The bruised reed He never breaks, Nor scorns the meanest name. 5 Then let our humble faith address His mercy and His power; We shall obtain delivering grace In every trying hour.