Serpent of Brass

Verse 1

When Israel's grieving tribes complain'd, With fiery serpents greatly pain'd, A serpent straight the prophet made Of molten brass, to view display'd.

Verse 2

Around the fainting crowds attend, To heaven their mournful sigs ascend; They hope, they look, while from the pole, Descends a pow'r that makes them whole.

Verse 3

But, O, what healing to the heart, Doth our Redeemer's cross impart! What life, by faith, our souls receive! What pleasures do his sorrows give!

Verse 4

Still may I view the Saviour's cross, And other objects count but loss: Here still be fix'd my feasted eyes, Enraptur'd with his sacrifice.

Verse 5

Jesus the Saviour! balmy name! Thy worth my tongue would now proclaim; By thy atonement set me free, My life, my hope, is all from thee.