For one thing I long and pray.
Though in sorrow’s vale fond hopes may perish,
This will prove my staff and stay:
To behold the Man who, deeply sighing
And upon earth’s bosom prostrate lying,
Drank the bitter cup of woe
Since the Father willed it so.
Ever shall my soul retain the vision
Of that Lamb, for sinners slain,
Pale and wounded, held in deep derision,