BEHOLD my Servant, saith the Lord,
The One Whom I uphold,
Elect according to my word,
Whose goings were of old,
Who doth His flock in pastures feed,
And by still waters take;
He will not break a bruised reed,
Nor quench the smoking flax.
Him Nicodemus sought by night;
At Sychar's well, by day,
Samaria's daughter heard aright,
The Lord of glory say
I living water give indeed,
That thirst forever slakes;
I will not break a bruised reed,
Nor quench the smoking flax.
The leper sought a cure to find,
Before Him as he lay;
One reached His garment's hem behind,
And healed went away.
Whom I make free is free indeed,
He said,—the truth so makes;
I will not break a bruised reed,
Nor quench the smoking flax.
O Lord, Thy love divine we own,
The riches of Thy grace;
While myriads bow before Thy throne,
And seraphs veil the face.
To us the word is sweet indeed,
And of Thy love partakes:
Thou wilt not break a bruised reed,
Nor quench the smoking flax.