Thus having valued the Lord Jesus at the price of a slave, they now prefer a robber to him, and are anxious to see him die a felons death. Well does Herbert put it:—
Pilate, a stranger, holdeth off; but they
Mine own dear people, cry ‘away, away,’
With noise confusèd frightening the day.
Was ever grief like mine?”
Rejected and despised of men,
Behold a man of woe!
And grief his close companion still
Through all his life below!
Yet all the griefs he felt were ours,
Ours were the woes he bore;
Pangs, not his own, his spotless soul
With bitter anguish tore.
We held him as condemn’d of heaven,
An outcast from his God;
While for our sins he groaned, he bled,
Beneath his Father’s rod.
His sacred blood hath wash’d our souls
From sin’s polluting stain;
His stripes have heal’d us, and his death
Revived our souls again.