Hark, he invites our Feet to try
The steep ascent of
And sets the fatal Tree before our Eye:
See here Coelestial Sorrow reigns;
Rude Nails and ragged Thorns lay by
Ting'd with the Crimson of Redeeming Veins.
In wondrous Words he sung the Vital Flood
Where all our Sins were drown'd,
Words fit to heal and fit to wound,
Sharp as the Spear, and Balmy as the Blood.
In his Discourse Divine
Afresh the Purple Fountain flow'd,
Our falling Tears kept Sympathetick Time
And trickled to the Ground,
While every Accent gave a doleful Sound,
Sad as the breaking Heart-strings of th' Expiring God.