My op'ning eyes are purg'd
Purcell, Henry
My opening eyes are purg'd, and lo!
A dismal scene of mighty woe!
What is't I see?
Mankind's redeemer stretch'd upon the cursed tree;
With ghastly wounds his body torn,
His limbs with ruder scourges worn;
No room for doubt: alas! 'tis he!
See, my soul, the purple pride
That adorns his thorny crown
See the streams that haste to meet
Another headlong bloody tide,
From his hands, and from his side,
To his no less wounded feet,
Trickling down.
Look how the meriting drops gush out
From their wide wound;
Mysterious drops of mighty price,
Each an offending world's sufficient sacrifice;
Like common gore they stain the blushing earth around,
From all his emptied veins they flow
Profuse and prodigal as worthless streams;
Ah see 'em how they fall!