V.
[O let the prisoners' mournful sighs]
O let the prisoners' mournful sighs
Come up before Thy gracious throne,
Mix'd with the blood and dying cries
Of Jesus Thy beloved Son.
Father, regard His powerful prayer,
Who, hanging on the shameful tree,
Doth all our sins and sorrows bear,
And look, through Jesu's wounds, on me!
On us the outcasts of mankind,
Who judge ourselves not fit to live,
But mercy hope from Thee to find,
Through Him that gasp'd in death, Forgive!
Hear Him, our Advocate with Thee,
Him, and the blood of sprinkling hear;
He pour'd out all that blood for me!
He doth before Thy throne appear!
For us He in Thy presence stands,
For us He prays the ceaseless prayer,
Points to His side, and lifts His hands,
And shows that I am graven there!
Lo! on Thy Son our souls we cast,
And trusting what He asks shall be,
And dying penitent at last,
We leave our cause to Him and Thee!
