So did the He­brew pro­phet raise
The braz­en ser­pent high,
The wound­ed felt im­me­di­ate ease,
The camp for­bore to die.

Look up­ward in the dy­ing hour,
And live, the pro­phet cries;
But Christ per­forms a nob­ler cure,
When Faith lifts up her eyes.

High on the cross the Sav­ior hung,
High in the heav’ns he reigns:
Here sin­ners by th’old ser­pent stung
Look, and for­get their pains.

When God’s own Son is lift­ed up,
A dy­ing world re­vives;
The Jew be­holds the glo­ri­ous hope,
Th’ex­pir­ing Gen­tile lives.