My dearest Lamb, who bearest my grief

Verse 1

My dearest Lamb, who bear'st my Grief, Thy Sympathy affords Relief To thy poor, drooping Bride: Thy Blood, as Wine, shall cheer my Heart; I'll draw my Ease from all thy Smart, And from thy pierced Side.

Verse 2

When thy poor Church grows tir'd and faint, And, overburden'd, makes Complaint Of some tremendous Load, Which sinks her Mind in Heaviness, And all her inward Pow'rs distress, As with an absent God.

Verse 3

Thou say'st, thou hast been tempted sore, In ev'ry Point like her, and more; Witness the shameful Cross: Now touch'd with ev'ry feeling Sense Of what can give thy Bride Offence; Hence she sustains no Loss.

Verse 4

If in the Dust she fainting sit, Washing her loving Saviour's Feet With her o'erflowing Tears; Thou gently dost her Spirit raise, Filling her Heart with Songs of Praise, And banishing her Fears.

Verse 5

Thou canst not see us weep alone, But Sigh for Sigh, and Groan for Groan, With us thou bear'st a Part; Whilst pants the Soul, with throbbing Breast, With equal Sympathy opprest, We feel thy loving Heart.