“We have not an High Priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities,” &c. 1 O COMPASSIONATE High-Priest, Full of truth and grace for me, Mark the heavings of my breast, See my sin and misery! Surely all to Thee is known, Though Thou dost not yet appear, Noted is my every groan, Counted is my every tear. 2 I have not a priest unmoved With the feeling of my woe, Who himself was never proved, Who my sufferings cannot know: Touch’d most sensibly Thou art With my soul’s