Israel, in ancient days,
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass
In which they saw a Saviour's face.
The paschal sacrifice,
And blood-besprinkled door,[1]
Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.
The Lamb, the Dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,[2]
Whose blood of matchless worth
Should be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of his own.
The scape-goat on his head[3]
The people's trespass bore,
And, to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more:
In him our Surety seem'd to say,
'Behold, I bear your sins away.'
Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bird went free;[4]
The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea;
Described a guilty soul enlarged,
And by a Saviour's death discharged.
Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page,
The footsteps of thy grace,
The same in every age!
O grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me!