A Man of Sorrows

Who hath received the report?
Who hath the Saviour-Lord
Seen in the meek and lowly
Jesus, by man abhorred?
Who, when our eyes beheld Him
Clad in unkingly guise,
Woke in our hearts no worship,
Hopes of no great emprise.
He was a Man of sorrows,
He was acquainted with grief,
Sorrows, unfathomed sorrows
Carried without relief.
Honoured, extolled and exalted,
He shall be Monarch of all;
Nobles shall kneel before Him,
Kings at His feet shall fall.
Such was the presage thrilling,
Such the soul-stirring word;
But when we saw Him found we
Not what our ears had heard.
He was a Man of sorrows,
Theme of the drunkard’s song.
Where was His kingly glory?
Where were His armies strong?
He shall grow up before Him
Tender as sapling green;
Angel hosts shall proclaim Him
Lord of all things terrene.
Yet was He earth-rejected,
Loathsome to princes proud,
Libelled, defamed, derided,
Hated and disallowed.
He was a Man of sorrows,
Sorrows of heaven’s height,
Deep as the depth of Sheol,
Black as the brow of night.
Mocked, maligned and forsaken,
Vilified all day long;
Heard He as one not hearing,
Silent He suffered wrong.
Lined was His heavenly visage,
Sorrow His form had marred;
Insult, reproach, reviling,
Deeply His brow had scarred.
He was a Man of sorrows
Met with ingratitude;
Ay, for His love He had hatred,
Spitting and scoffing rude.
Like unto sheep we had wandered,
Captives to sin were we lost;
He in His tender compassion
Bore of our ransom the cost.
Fell on our righteous Redeemer,
Friendless, tho’ faithful and true
Woes that were truly our merit,
Wrath that was justly our due.
He was a Man of sorrows,
Who shall their torment tell?
Fierce as the frowning welkin
Black as the billows of hell.
Who shall be slain for the nation?
Who shall the Roman release?
Robber and murderer ruthless,
Him, or the Prince of peace?
Never this Man, but Barabbas!
Set the assassin free;
Send the Lord Christ to the gibbet,
Let Him be nailed to the tree!
Thus did a thankless nation
Mercy with hate requite,
Yea, and a Man of sorrows
Made of the Nazarite.
Nailed to the cross like a felon,
Crowned with a circlet of thorn;
Hands that had healed the afflicted
Wounded, bleeding and torn!
Numbered with evil transgressors,
Ended His sorrowful path,
Drinking the chalice of judgment,
Lone in a tempest of wrath.
He was a Man of sorrows,
Whelmed with unspeakable grief,
Sorrows heaped high upon sorrows,
Sorrows without relief.
Led as a lamb to the slaughter,
Dumb as a sheep being shorn,
Bore He in absolute silence
Barbarous buffet and scorn.
Surely our griefs He has carried,
Surely our sorrows He bore,
When there was none to take pity,
No one His griefs to deplore.
He was a Man of sorrows
Far beyond human ken,
Sorrows from depths infernal,
Sorrows from sinful men.
Cold was the welcome we gave Him,
Thorny the path that He trod,
Stricken, smitten, afflicted,
Ay, by the hand of His God.
But for our trespass He suffered,
For our offences was bruised,
For our transgressions was wounded,
When by His creature refused.
He was a Man of sorrows
Never forgot to be,
Grief like the storm of winter,
Woes like the wrathful sea.
Fought He our foes infernal,
Foes that had us enslaved,
Crushed is their might for ever,
Us thro’ His mercy saved.
Soon shall He come in His glory,
Soon shall He take His throne,
Then shall the ransomed nations
Him as Messiah own.
Then shall the Man of sorrows,
He who was so despised,
Be by all creatures breathing
Honoured and praised and prized.