The Man of Sorrows

By: J.N. Darby

Part 3

I pause:- for in Thy vision The day is hastening now, When for our lost condition Thy holy head shall bow;

When, deep to deep still calling, The waters reach Thy soul, And - death and wrath appalling - Their waves shall o’er Thee roll.

O day of mightiest sorrow, Day of unfathomed grief! When Thou should’st taste the horror Of wrath without relief.

O day of man’s dishonour! When, for Thy love supreme, He sought to mar Thine honour, Thy glory turn to shame.

O day of our confusion! When Satan’s darkness lay, In hatred and delusion, On ruined nature’s way.

Thou soughest for compassion - Some heart Thy grief to know, To watch Thine hour of passion - For comforters in woe.

No eye was found to pity, No heart to bear Thy woe; But shame, and scorn, and spitting - None cared Thy Name to know.

Thy pride of careless greatness Could wash its hands of Thee: Priests, that should plead for weakness, Must Thine accusers be!

Man’s boasting love disowns Thee; Thine own Thy danger flee; A Judas only owns Thee That Thou may’st captive be.

O man! How hast thou provèd What in thy heart is found; By grace Divine unmovèd, By self in fetters bound.

Yet with all grief aquainted, The Man of sorrows view, Unmoved - by ill untainted- The path of grace pursue.

In death, obedience yielding To God His Father’s will, Love still its power is wielding To meet all human ill.