For Good-Friday

Awake, my Soul! this solemn Day, To Notes deep, melting, soft, and slow, Sing in some Heart-affecting Lay, The Man of God, yet Man of Woe.

Speak first his Sorrow and Dismay, When thrice in Agony he pray'd The bitter Cup might pass away, But pray'd in vain celestial Aid.

Then paint the Scourge and thorny Crown, The wanton Marks of foul Disgrace: His precious Blood fast trickling down His radiant, more than Angel Face.

And last, the cursed Tree, recall, Whereon thy Lord, thy God, was tied: Till pale and faint, disown'd by all, He bow'd his sacred Head and died.

But who can sing this piercing Scene? They, only they who sing above; Ye Seraphs then inspire some Strain Worthy to laud such wond'rous Love.