Weep, Zion, Weep

Weep

Zi­on

weep

in death’s deep sleep

Your king His head has bow­èd;

Closèd are those lips

whence late

Truth and mer­cy flow­èd.

In strains of woe our songs shall flow;

What love is here dis­playèd;

See God’s dear and on­ly Son

To a tomb con­veyèd.

Yet

O re­joice with heart and voice

Soon will He rise most glo­ri­ous;

And at the right hand of God

Seat Him­self vic­tor­ious.