1 THOU Man of Griefs, I fain would be Perfectly conform’d to Thee: Bestow the patient power, The meekness of my injured Lamb, And arm me for the fiery hour Of suffering for Thy name. 2 Unknown to men, and meanly born, Happy object of their scorn, Content to live obscure, And all things, but Thy favour, need, And want, as my great Master poor, A place to lay my head. 3 When call’d to testify Thy grace, Set as adamant my face, My steadfast heart prepare: Rejected, and abhorr’d of