Have, have ye no regard, all ye
Who pass this way, to pity Me,
Who am a man of misery!
A man both bruis'd, and broke, and one
Who suffers not here for Mine own,
But for My friends' transgression!
Ah! Sion's daughters, do not fear
The cross, the cords, the nails, the spear,
The myrrh, the gall, the vinegar;
For Christ, your loving Saviour, hath
Drunk up the wine of God's fierce wrath;
Only there's left a little froth,
Less for to taste than for to show
What bitter cups had been your due,
Had He not drank them up for you.