No more from hence ascends
The sacrificial smoke; the priest no more
Sheds blood of lambs, to expiate thy crimes—
Crimes foul as hell—crimes which the blood of Him,
Who came from heaven to die for guilty man,
Alone could purge,—and innocence impart.
Here holy David tuned his harp to strains
Sublime as those of angels, when he sung
In dulcet melody the praise of Him
Who should redeem from guilt the sons of man,